


Love Is As Rich As The Sea

by elrhiarhodan



Category: White Collar
Genre: A/U, F/M, M/M, Multi, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:17:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal Caffrey is an ancient Selkie (a seal who can become a human) who has lost his skin, Peter has some very special talents, and Elizabeth is as awesome as she is in canon.  Set against the background of Season Three (from <b>On Guard</b> to <b>Countdown</b>), Neal struggles against his need to find the other half of himself and the desire to stay with those he loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Polyamory Big Bang and as a fill for my A/U Bingo Square “Selkie.” This story was completed ten days before **Checkmate** aired. Any similarities in dialog or plot are purely coincidental.
> 
> My deepest thanks and even deeper appreciation goes to my extraordinarily talented and very patient artist, Weaselett , who created not only amazing cover art, banners and icons, but the gorgeous drawing that concludes this story. You can find all of her artwork, [ here at her journal](http://themulberrybush.livejournal.com/9071.html). Please leave her feedback, she did an amazing job capturing this story. 
> 
> It goes without say that nothing would have gotten written without the cheerleading from my terrific crit partner, Jrosemary and my enabler-in-chief, Rabidchild67 who prodded, nudged, argued and advised – with patience and fortitude. Without these two wonderful women, I would never have finished this.
> 
> Beta credit to the heroic Attackfish (whose prompt inspired this tale), Jrosemary, Rabidchild67 and Elainasaunt. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Also thanks to TJ_Teejay who helped out with some crucial German words.

  


**Present Day**

Neal dialed and the phone picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Moz.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“You at the place?”

There was a moment’s silence at the other end before Moz answered. “Yeah, I am.”

Neal took a deep breath. “Have you finished doing the inventory yet?”

There was another hesitation in Mozzie’s response and Neal’s heart sank. “It’s done. I haven’t found it.”

_Shit_ That was the mildest of his curses. “You’re sure that it’s not there.”

“I’m sure – I’ve gone through all the crates, even took out all the packing material, just to make sure. I’ve been inhaling seventy year old sawdust and wood shavings for a week. It’s not here.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry, man. I’m so very sorry.”

Neal closed his eyes. The feeling of loss, of incompleteness wasn’t new. But this utter desperation was. It was supposed to be there. He hoped it would be there and then let himself be stained by the blood of millions – for _nothing_.

“What do you want to do, Neal?”

He looked at the cell phone as if it had all of the answers. It didn’t. “I don’t know, Moz.”

“This is still our white whale – it’s still the score of our lifetime…”

“Your lifetime, Moz. Not mine.”

“You know what I mean, Neal.”

Yeah, he did. 

Moz continued. “We can still sell this and buy our island paradise. There’s nothing to stop us.”

The sick feeling that had taken root in Neal’s belly migrated north, lodging in the back of his throat. “Moz, are you even listening to what you’re saying? Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life surrounded by the sea?”

The silence was telling. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t really thinking. It’s not like you’re _not_ already living on an island, you know.”

“And you don’t think that kills me every damn day? At least I don’t hear or see the water all the time.”

“I guess that makes it bearable.”

“Just about.” There was nothing for either of them to say.

“Look – I’ve got to go. I need to finalize the arrangements for getting everything transferred to the Otter. Even if you don’t want an island, you’ll be able to buy a mountain top – or even a whole damn range – once we sell the treasure.”

“Yeah, that’s a thought. I’ve got to go too – need get to the meeting with Lawrence. See you tonight.” Neal disconnected and hurled the phone against the wall. He thought he finally had it, it was finally going to be back in his possession. 

After nearly three hundred years on land, he’d have his skin back, that he’d be free of this dry, hard realm. He’d finally have the oceans and the seas again and he’d never need to walk on these twisted feet, never again watch the arid, blue sky with these small, unseeing eyes, and never shiver in the night when the city was quiet enough that he could hear the river lapping at the stony shores.

He tried not to think about who he’d leave behind. About all the reasons he had to stay. He tried not to think about love.

And he failed miserably. Maybe it was for the best that his skin was still lost. Maybe it was a sign that he was meant to stay here, with Peter and Elizabeth. 

He didn’t want to think why that thought was such a comfort, why the thought of a long future here with them made all the pain go away.

__________________

**The Central Park Zoo, June, 2002**  


_  
The sea lions crowded up to the fence and were calling out. The sounds were unnerving, and so was their behavior. They looked like they were bowing to Neal. He held a hand out and one of the beasts climbed on top of its brethren to reach it. As Moz watched, Neal let his lips curve into a small smile as the bewhiskered mouth kissed his palm._

__  


_He thought he heard Neal say, “I share your sorrow, cousin – to be trapped here in this harsh dry world, as safe as you may be.”_

__  


_To his relief, and probably to the relief of the zookeepers, the animals moved away from the edge of the enclosure. The one brave enough to touch Neal seemed to become the center of attention, like it was sharing something._

__  


_“Neal?”_

__  


_His friend turned to him, ice blue eyes glowing – with tears and something else. “She left me, Moz.”_

__  


_“Kate?”_

__  


_“Yeah, she’s gone. She doesn’t trust me.”_

__  


_“And that surprises you?”_

__  


_Neal had the grace to look ashamed. “No, I guess not. Our whole relationship started with a lie.”_

__  


_“But you did tell her the truth – eventually.” Moz was trying to make Neal feel a little better. It wasn’t working. Neal stayed sullen, silent. “What was the deal with the seals?”_

__  


_“Sea lions. Seals don’t have ears. They’re sea lions, from the Pacific Ocean. Not that any of these poor beasts have seen the ocean, or ever will.” Neal turned back to the pool to watch the animals and their antics._

__  


_Moz shrugged away the difference. “Whatever… what just happened here?”_

__  


_Neal shook his head and didn’t say anything. He stood there for a moment, watching the animals performing for the crowds. He then walked away and Moz followed._

__  


_They came to a secluded area, the sunlight filtered through the trees, the shadows moving like they were another living thing. Moz shivered despite the warmth of the late spring day._

__  


_Neal sat down on the grass and Moz joined him._

__  


_“Kate’s left me.”_

__  


_“Yeah,you already told me that. And I’m sorry.” Moz was a smart man – he always knew not to speak ill of Kate to Neal’s face, even though his love for her screwed up all of their grand plans._

__  


_More than once, Neal tried to explain the attraction Kate held for him. To Moz, she was young, beautiful but not terribly intelligent, and when he looked closely, there was something sly and unwholesome about her. He thought Kate had the makings of a passably talented grifter, her “reproductions” were moderately better than average and she had a remarkable appreciation for the classics. Moz warned Neal only once about trusting her – she had worked for Vincent Adler for too long not to have some of the man’s habits rub off on her. But Neal just got angry; he didn’t want to consider that Kate wasn’t who he thought she was._

__  


_“Are you? You never approved of her.”_

__  


_Moz shrugged. He hadn’t, but that wasn’t really the point. “I can still be sorry for you.” When Neal didn’t say anything, he had to ask. “Why did she go?”_

__  


_“She didn’t want to come with me. There’s a thing. Something I need to get in Denmark.”_

__  


_“Get? That’s a new euphemism.”_

__  


_“Okay, **steal**.”_

__  


_What else is new? “What is it?”_

__  


_Neal then told him the story of the amber music box – and Alex Hunter, and why Kate didn’t trust him. Moz knew Alex, she was one of the best fences he’d ever dealt with, but he hadn’t known that she had approached Vincent Adler, or that Neal had slept with her._

__  


_“That would be quite a score, particularly since the Amber Room has been missing for almost three-quarters of a century.”_

__  


_“Alex says she has a solid lead on it. It’s in Copenhagen.”_

__  


_Moz didn’t believe for one moment that Neal was willing to walk away from the love of his life just for the sake of a score. He could, but not Neal. “There’s more to it that that, isn’t there?”_

__  


_“Do you believe, Moz?”_

__  


_“Believe in what?” He was getting confused._

__  


_“In things that exist just beyond the corner of your eye.”_

__  


_“As in, ‘There are more things on heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy’ ?”_

__  


_Neal shook his head. “Trust you, Moz, to find the Bard’s most appropriate quotation.”_

__  


_He chuckled. “Why are you asking me, anyway?”_

__  


_“Can you answer the question first? Do you believe?”_

__  


_He nodded slowly. “Yes – I do believe that there are things that exist for reasons I don’t understand.”_

__  


_Neal took a deep breath and Moz thought if there was ever a picture next to the definition of “conflicted,” it would feature Neal’s face at the moment._

__  


_“I’m not what you think I am, Moz.”_

__  


_He nodded. “Go on.”_

__  


_“I was born in the sea, in the deep cold off the Orkney Islands. The first time I shed my skin and walked upright on the hard land was over three hundred years ago._

__  


_“You’re a selkie?” Of all the things he had expected Neal to tell him, this was at the bottom of the list, somewhere below being the bastard grandchild of the Duke of Windsor. And then thinking about the strangeness at the Sea Lion pool, it was completely believable._

__  


_Neal nodded. “My kin told me the dangers of congress with mortals – but they did not tell me how irresistible they were –are.” Neal spread out his fingers and looked at them like he’d never seen them before. “The sea kept us ageless. We are immortal.”_

__  


_Moz didn’t know what to say to that – he couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors of living forever. “What happened to you?”_

__  


_Neal grinned and once again looked just like the young grifter he had taken under his wing. When the grin faded, Moz could see something else there, something old and tireless._

__  


_“A woman.”_

__  


_“Of course – it would always be a woman.”_

__  


_Neal laughed, and the sound was short and bitter. “Her name was Katherine Armitage, the wayward wife of the Earl of Westen.”_

__  


_  
**Another Kate.** Moz decided to go along with the story for the moment. “And she was an evil, treacherous bitch?”_

__  


_Neal’s face scrunched into that expression that wasn’t quite yes, wasn’t quite no. “She wasn’t evil or treacherous – and probably not that much of a bitch; more lonely and sad than anything else. It was her husband who was evil and treacherous.”_

__  


_“And you felt sorry for her?” Typical Neal, never one to pass by a damsel in distress and not lend a hand, or an hour in a bed._

__  


_“I don’t know what I felt, honestly. I came out of the sea and she was there. She was so beautiful.”_

__  


_Moz had to grin. “Only you, _mon frère_ , only you.”_

__  


_“We were lovers for over a year – it started and ended during the summer, when the days were endless. The sun never set. She taught me so much, and we were happy. For a while.”_

__  


_“Until her husband found out?”_

__  


_“My story is that predictable?”_

__  


_“No, not really – I’ve just read a lot of paperback romances.”_

__  


_Neal shot him a look._

__  


_“What? I’ve never said anything about your fetish for Bob Ross.” Moz knew that was a card he could play for a long time. “What happened next?”_

__  


_“One of the servants had been sent to spy on Katherine. She was in exile – apparently she wasn’t interested in the whole heir and a spare idea before taking a lover. Westen found out what I was. He stole my skin and took Katherine with him to Russia, to the Court of Catherine the Great. ”_

__  


_Moz prided himself on his ability to think on his feet, to put two and two together and come up with the right answer. “That’s why you want the music box. You think it could lead you to your skin?”_

__  


_Neal nodded, an infinitesimal shake of his head._

__  


_“Can I ask a question?”_

__  


_“Just one, Moz?”_

__  


_“For the moment, just one. How do you know your skin wasn’t destroyed?” In asking, Moz realized he wasn’t just humoring Neal. He really believed him – and it explained so many things about his friend._

__  


_“I’d be dead if my skin was destroyed. As long as it’s whole – I can’t die. I know it’s out there. I know that Westen gave it to Catherine the Great. He … wrote in his diary that he had given the Empress a great and magical gift that would keep her young and vital.”_

__  


_“Well, Catherine did have legendary … er … stamina.”_

__  


_Neal gave him a sideways look. “Don’t go there, Moz.”_

__  


_“Okay – okay. One more question.”_

__  


_“Sure.” Neal shrugged._

__  


_“What happens when you get your skin back?”_

__  


_Neal looked up at the canopy of trees; his expression was lost in shadow. “I will return to the sea at last. I can go home.”  
_

__  


__________________

**Present Day**

Moz bit his lip and sighed. Another lie. A big one this time. Maybe the biggest one of all.

He knew that Neal never fully trusted him – that was not surprising. He didn’t trust Neal either. They were both con men – “men” in as much as the definition allowed. Neal didn’t trust him not to cheat him out of a share, or not to put his own interests first, but he did trust him with the truth. 

And Moz just betrayed that in the worst possible way.

He looked at the thing in front of him – an inelegant pile of dark fur and skin. If he had ever doubted Neal’s story, he didn’t now. There was a black swastika stenciled onto all four sides of the wooden crate that Moz used as a makeshift table. He had put the skin on top of the insignia and as he sat there and watched, it wiggled away as if it was repulsed by the symbol.

Moz moved it back and the thing moved again. He tried with other boxes with the same result. He took a piece of paper and drew the twisted cross on it and put the skin on top of it. To his relief, it didn’t move. Then Moz realized he drew the swastika backwards. He flipped the paper over, and yes – the skin crawled away.

He held it up. It was kind of grotesque; eye sockets empty but flippers and tail intact and as soft and supple as if it were a living thing. It was bigger than he expected – maybe five feet from nose to tail, with a slit from the breast to the top of the tail. The nose was sort of the worst thing of all – it was soft and spongy, a little cool and damp. There were long whiskers, too. Moz touched them reluctantly and the whole “face” scrunched up.

This was a quasi-living thing – in so much as an empty skin that was more than three hundred years old could be called living. When he told Neal, all those years ago, that he did believe – he wasn’t _quite_ telling the truth. It would be foolish to deny that there were things unexplainable by science and reason, but magic like this? Yes, he believed Neal – but there was always a part of him that didn’t accept the story as true, that thought that Neal was just a little crazy. Since he was often on the other side of the sanity line himself sometimes, it never seemed to matter. 

Lying to Neal about the skin was maybe the worst thing he had ever done in his life. But if telling the truth meant losing Neal to the sea forever, he’d count the cost well worth the lie.

* * *

**A Federal Maximum Security Facility – Autumn, 2009**  


_  
Peter ran his fingers across the walls of Neal Caffrey’s cell. Across the calendar that marked down the days left in his sentence. Across the very good reproductions of the Leonardo DaVinci sketches, across the small Russian icon and all of the other bits and pieces decorating the concrete walls. He was picking up images of Caffrey. That was not surprising, he’d been living in the same cell for four years. But what he was **seeing** made it hard to suppress a smile. _

__  


_Neal was an impressive man when he was naked. And he certainly knew how to handle himself._

__  


_He sat down on the bed and flipped through a vehicle maintenance manual, then an old copy of the works of Rudyard Kipling, bookmarked with a flyer for valet parking at La Guardia. These objects told him a story in small fragments. The guards had found Neal’s abandoned prison clothes, a piece of broken mirror, a pair of scissors, and an ancient disposable razor, and dumped them back in his cell. Peter picked up the razor and got a startling image of Neal, his face covered by a weedy beard, his eyes desperate._

__  


_He couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Neal didn’t have a beard.”_

__  


_The warden told him otherwise and took him into the security office. He played the video of Neal coming out of his cell over the last month, which didn’t tell him much that he couldn’t figure out with his unaided deductive skills._

__  


_But Kate Moreau’s signature in the visitor’s log gave him a wealth of information. Peter had touched Kate’s work in the past. She emitted strong emotions like a lighthouse, and he was familiar with the combination of lust and deceit that poured off of the inked lines on the page. But there was something new here, there was a sly sense of happiness and impending accomplishment, which left a sour taste in his mouth, like bile._

__  


_It began to made sense when he watched the tape of her last visit with Neal – it was obvious she was signaling him, he didn’t need any special talents to decipher the Morse code hand taps against her thigh._

__  


_  
**B-o-t-t-l-e**. _

__  


_He didn’t know what that meant. Yet. But he was sure she was setting Neal up for something._

__  


_He picked up Neal’s DOC folder again. This time there were strong images coming off of it. **Neal, sitting on the floor, holding an empty bottle, desperation and heartbreak in his posture. Neal, standing, reaching out to touch him. Neal, smiling and trying to bargain with him.** The strength of the images made him dizzy – he had only experienced something like this once before. When Neal shook his hand that day in the storage locker, when he finally captured him._

__  


_He knew exactly where he’d find his escaped prisoner.  
_

__  


__________________

“I don’t know what I’ll do when Neal runs.”

Elizabeth leaned over and kissed him, a gesture of comfort. “You’ll do what you’ve done before. You’ll catch him again and put him away.”

Peter looked up at his wife and tried to smile. “But it’s different this time.”

She rested her chin on his shoulder, rubbing her smooth cheek against his, roughened by his late-day beard. “Yeah, I know, hon. So you’ll catch him and you’ll keep him by your side. Or lock him in the basement and take him out to play with on rainy days.”

Peter smiled at that last suggestion, then turned serious. “That’s not going to be so easy – not this time. If Neal’s stolen the treasure, he’s compromised me. My ability to go after him may no longer exist if he bolts.”

“You think you’ll lose your badge? That the FBI will fire you?”

“There’s a strong possibility of that. Or demote me to night shift at the Resident Agency office in Goshen. I’ve let myself get too close to Neal.”

El sighed. “Did you have a choice? Did you think it would go any differently?”

Peter shook his head. “No, of course not. I knew from the moment he shook my hand after I arrested him that we could end up like this.”

“You always say the future you see isn’t etched in stone.”

“I do, don’t I?” He gave her a bittersweet smile. “But this feels too predetermined – like a story told through the ages.”

“You make it seem like you’re fated mates. Like this outcome couldn’t be avoided at any cost.”

“And you’ve never worried about that.” Peter kissed her, never loving Elizabeth more than at this moment.

“Some things are worth fighting against, and some things are worth fighting for.” 

“And you think this thing – this tie, this link – between us is worth fighting for?”

“Yes, hon, I do.” Elizabeth snuggled against him. 

Peter rested his head against El’s. “Sometimes I wish I was simply Special Agent Peter Burke of the FBI.”

“And you’re not?”

He gave her The Look. 

“No – of course you aren’t. You’re Peter Burke, _Special_ Agent, and friend, and husband.”

“Yeah, _special_ – as in a damned freak of nature, like a unicorn or one of those lion-dragon things.” He picked up the evidence bag with the burned scrap of painting and was struck again by the fury he felt when he first saw it flutter to his feet, edges still glowing from the fire. The fury that was fed by the vision he got when he touched the canvas, an image of Neal standing in a room surrounded by the stolen loot. But it was fleeting – Neal smiling, and then he was gone. He didn’t know what it meant. Was it a portent of something yet to happen or a snapshot of something that had already occurred? 

Peter rubbed his fingers against the plastic-encased canvas. No matter how many times he tried to raise that image again, he couldn’t. No Neal – no treasure. 

“Hon?” El looked at him.

“This talent is so damn erratic. You’d think…”

“But it never works the way you want it to. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Peter tried to find some humor in the situation. Elizabeth was right – he’d certainly said that often enough. These flashes, these glimmers of insight, were never enough on their own. He pushed back from the table, no premonitions now, but he was still filled with anxiety. He paced and sat back down again, still restless.

It didn’t matter if this piece of canvas came from one of Neal’s recent creations or was part of a destroyed horde of treasure. Everything he’d been working towards was in tatters.

“He’s going to run, El.” There was no question in his mind about that. 

“Why are you so sure? Have you seen something?”

“No, no, I haven’t. And that’s the problem – I can see nothing. It’s like a switch has been flipped, until this happened, I could read Neal like a book. I knew when he was chasing after Kate, when he was going to get the box. Hell – had I been paying attention, I would have seen that whole debacle with Fowler.”

“Hon, you’re not perfect and you’re not omniscient.”

Peter scrubbed at his face. “I know, but still – for something so important – I should be able to tell.” 

“Let me take this…” El plucked the evidence bag out of his hands, “Over to the Diarmitt Gallery and have it tested. At least you can get some peace of mind.”

“Why are you so convinced it’s not Neal’s?”

“Peter, I just can’t see Neal doing this to you. He may be a conman and a social engineer without equal, but he doesn’t work through proxies. Not for something like this. He wouldn’t have used you to get his revenge on Adler – that meant too much to him.”

Peter had to agree, and the thought settled him. Then his beloved wife rocked his world. 

“Besides, he loves you too much. If he runs, it’s going to be because he thinks there is not a place for him in your life.”

“Elizabeth --”

“Peter, you need to stop denying it, denying the evidence in front of your eyes.”

He shook his head. “He loves – loved Kate. He’s been flirting with Sara – sleeping with her by now, probably. Who knows what he gets up to with Mozzie. And if he loves me – as you say – it’s not a healthy thing. I’m his jailer, for all intents and purposes.”

El laid a fingertip across his lips, cutting him off. “You are not his jailer. Do you really think he would have stayed all this time if that was all you were to him? He could have cut and run any time. You know that.”

Peter did and he thought back on all the times he removed Neal’s anklet and got a vision of the future. The light on the tracker going off and the office cheering as he unlocked it for the last time. Except for yesterday, when he pulled it for Neal’s meeting with Lawrence. For the first time, there was nothing – no vision, no clue as to how their story was going to end. He hadn’t told El that, he barely wanted to admit it to himself.

“Honey, regardless of what Neal is or isn’t going to do, what do you feel?” 

That was the question he hoped she’d never ask him.

“Honey --”

“Peter, be honest with yourself, is it just your career you’re worried about?”

He didn’t even have to think before he answered “No, you know that. Neal is my friend. I care about him – for him. I trust … I have trusted him with so much.”

“Including your heart?”

“El, you hold my heart.”

She smiled and there was nothing sad or bitter in that expression, just her natural joy and a bit of frustration. “Peter, your heart is infinitely large – and I do lay claim to most of it. But there is still a part that you’ve given to Neal. I’ve seen it in you – when you talk to him, talk about him. He is important to you.”

“Satchmo’s important to me.” Peter felt like the French at Harfleur, besieged on all sides and offered no alternative but surrender.

“Honey, you have to do what’s right.” She hugged him. “And that doesn’t always mean following the law.”

“You’re suggesting that I protect Neal?” 

“As if you haven’t been doing that for the better part of two years already? How many times have you shielded him from the consequences of his actions?”

He shook his head, defeated. “I don’t think I can protect him this time, El.” _I don’t know if I want to._

It was as if he had spoken that last thought aloud. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

Peter let El take the scrap of painting to her old employers at the Diarmitt Gallery. The report came back, identifying sixteen different compounds consistent with paint from the 1930s. The canvas was also identified as European in origin, manufactured in the late teens or early Twenties. The paint aging tests were inconclusive – the drying patterns could have been accomplished by a heat gun or they could have been natural, especially for a painting that was sealed away when it was relatively new. On the surface, the report vindicated Neal and when Peter touched it, he got nothing relevant. 

But everything about this felt wrong. His gut – unaided by his unreliable extra senses – screamed at him that this wasn’t what it was supposed to be. Even when he went to see Neal and found the Chrysler Building painting that he’d seen before, now on the floor, racked up with a few other canvasses, it still felt wrong. Peter was careful, though, not to touch Neal. He felt too raw, and he didn’t know what he’d do if he saw something he didn’t want to see.

He told Neal he was calling a truce, but his own heart and mind were still very much at war.

* * *

There were few things he liked more than chess. 

It was more than a game – it was the metaphor of his existence. Chess didn’t require understanding his opponent’s emotions or any special talents – just the natural ability to calculate the risks inherent in each move and how those risks play out over the course of a game. 

Matthew Keller looked at the board in front of him. It was set up with the still unfinished game between him and Caffrey, and he thought about the strange twists of fate that kept bringing them together. Neal always managed to get what he wanted, and quite ironically, lose it all in the next breath. Why should this time be any different? Why shouldn’t Neal lose it to him for once?

Keller knew just what he was – a cold-hearted bastard, maybe even a sociopath. That didn’t bother him. It got him what he wanted most times, and he had gotten good enough over the years to fake enough empathy to get him the rest. 

But this time, there was something he wanted that no amount of sympathetic crocodile tears would help him achieve.

Power. He never really thought he wanted that and he wasn’t the type to chase myths and legends. That took too much effort and the payoffs were never what they promised to be. Which is why he never interfered with Neal seemingly bone-headed quest for the damn music box. It surprised him to no end when he learned just what the music box was. A treasure map of sorts.

And Neal found the treasure.

The day after the FBI took down the crime scene tape from that warehouse on the Brooklyn waterfront, he decided to do a little sniffing around. The building itself was a burned out hulk, but the explosion sent all sorts of goodies into the air. Bits and pieces of metal and shards of glass and a surprising amount of paper landed everywhere – sometimes blocks away.

He didn’t have Neal Caffrey’s facility with languages, but he could use a German dictionary as well as anyone, and some of the pages he collected told a very interesting story, one about crates of gold and jewels, paintings and statues and even a list of _magische Gegenstände_ – magical items. 

There were only three things on the last part of that list – a human skull (Caucasian, mid-12th century) that housed a demon, a harp (late 18th century, Ireland) that played without human aid, and an undead animal skin, most likely seal, North Atlantic variety.

It was the last item that interested him the most of all. Yes, the crates of gold and jewels, the Degas and Cézannes, the Rembrandts and Old Masters were all objects of desire and he wanted each and every one of them, but it was the skin that was the motivator.

Back in the day, when it was just him and Neal going at it like hammer and tongs across Europe, sometimes whatever they had (they weren’t partners and they really weren’t friends) stopped boiling over and settled down to a steady simmer. They had been holed up in a garret apartment in Nice for two weeks, avoiding the police, fucking, getting drunk, playing chess, and trying not to fight.

__  
“Tell me a story.”  


  
_“What?”_   


  
_“Come on, Caffrey – tell me a story. I’ve been watching you charm the birds out of the trees for months now. How about you charm me for once?”_   


  
_Neal had made a face – something between self-disgust and resignation. “What type of story?” He picked up his glass and downed the rest of the contents. It was the last of the vodka. They’d finished off the wine days ago._   


  
_“Whatever you want; or how about ‘Once Upon a Time’?” Matthew had meant that to be mocking – but he added a touch of pleading in his tone. Just enough to get Neal going. He knew his mark all too well._   


  
_And yet, the story Caffrey told was unexpected. He had thought Neal would regale him with an elaborate fiction about some grand sexual conquest, or the ultimate con. They were, after all, nothing if not competitive._   


  
_But this was a real fairytale and not like Caffrey at all._   


  
_When Neal finished the tale, Matthew had to ask, “So – this thing, this selkie – it never got its skin back?”_   


  
_Neal shook his head. “No, it was trapped forever on dry land. The skin is still out there, somewhere.”_   


  
_“You make it sound like the story is real. You really don’t believe that?”_   


  
_“Dunno – it could be.” Neal wouldn’t meet his eyes._   


  
_“What’s the skin worth?”_   


  
_Neal had gotten the strangest look on his face. “I don’t think you can put a price on something like that.”_   


  
_“It’s got to be worth something – why wouldn’t the wife’s husband just have burned it?” That part didn’t make any sense if the skin wasn’t valuable._   


  
_“Maybe he wanted to torment the selkie?”_   


  
_He didn’t buy that. Neal knew something. “You’ve been tracking this story – haven’t you?”_   


  
_Neal shrugged and Keller had pounced. They wrestled to the floor, rolling over until Matthew was on top of Neal. “Come on, give it up, sweetheart. You can’t hold out on me.” He had whispered that into Neal’s ear and the tremor that followed could have been lust or fear or both. Their relationship was just like that._   


  
_Matthew had let Neal shake him off and they retreated to opposite sides of the small room._   


  
_“So, you’re not going to tell me?_   


  
_“Okay – okay. I’ve found something; a diary that belonged to the Earl of Westen, supposedly the selkie’s lover’s husband. He wrote that he took a selkie’s skin with him when he was sent on a diplomatic mission to Russia, to the court of Catherine the Great and gave it to her.”_   


  
_“The Empress was reputed to have incredible stamina.”_   


  
_Neal rolled his eyes. “I don’t think the skin had anything to do with her sexual prowess.”_   


  
_“I wasn’t talking about **that**.” It was such a joy seeing Neal flush. “I bet that skin had power.”_   


  
_“What sort of power?”_   


  
_“Hmm, dunno. Maybe immortality?” There was suddenly a look on Neal’s face that he never quite forgot – fear, anxiety._   


  
_“Catherine the Great wasn’t immortal.”_   


  
_“Maybe she would have been if she hadn’t tried to have sex with a horse.”_   


  
_“That was a myth – she died of a stroke. Besides – why would you think a selkie’s skin would grant immortality?”_   


  
_Matthew remembered something his Scottish grandmother told him about selkies. But in this case it was easier to lie than explain. “Something I once read.”_   


  
_“You never struck me at the type to enjoy folklore, Keller.”_   


  
_He ignored that last comment. It was true – he didn’t have much patience for fairy tales, not unless they could lead him to a big score. “Wouldn’t you want to be immortal?”_   


  
_The way Caffrey answered was puzzling at the time. “I don’t think I’d ever pick immortality if I had a choice.”_   


  
_“You wouldn’t want to live forever?” He would – he could lay plans out now and watch as they came to fruition over the centuries._   


  
_“And watch everyone I love die?”_   


  
_“That’s your problem, Caffrey – you love.”_   


He never forgot the story and had done some research. There wasn’t a lot written about those creatures – mostly tantalizing hints of their power. Keller paid one last visit to his granny, she was still sharp as a knife and just as deadly. She told him that the only way to harvest a selkie’s power was to kill it under a full moon when it was wearing its skin.

Caffrey was a fool. And as ancient as he may be, he had never learned his lesson. What a delight it would be to school him at last.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


 

It was a little hard to explain why, but Peter had stopped checking Neal’s tracking data. He used to do it every morning. It was something to look at while trying not to gag on the plain oatmeal that El insisted he eat for breakfast. When Neal wasn’t in the office, he’d check the tracker at random points during the day, and if he wasn’t busy on the weekends, the same.

But since the thing with Adler and the sub and the missing art, he rarely checked himself. Call it willful blindness – he was operating on the theory that if Neal stepped out of his radius, he’d get an alert. As long as Neal was within his radius, everything was _just fine_.

Peter had never gotten any sort of extrasensory information off of the tracking data. His talents didn’t work that way. El thought it was because technology interfered with emotions, or that raw data was inherently un-empathetic. It was hard to articulate, but it made sense. But there was always a first time, and Neal made these abilities so unpredictable that he didn’t want to find out if he could pick up images from these reports. 

Willful blindness was probably the best name for it.

So he had Diana or Clinton pull the data. It was never on a regular basis, just every once in a while, just to pretend he kept on top of things. On top of Neal.

And wasn’t that a joke? There was no point in checking the tracking data if Neal was holed up in his apartment in the evenings scheming with Mozzie – the most obvious architect of this disaster-in-the-making.

Today was different. He picked up the file on Frank DeLuca Jr. that OC had sent over and got some disturbing images. DeLuca and his thug walking into a showroom of sorts – none of the objects made sense, but Neal and Moz were there. DeLuca taking out a knife and stabbing someone. It wasn’t Neal, it wasn’t Mozzie – it was a face. A picture.

When Neal asked to take an early lunch, he should have said no, but he didn’t have a valid reason, except maybe to tell Neal that they’d have lunch together today. That wouldn’t fly, though – they hadn’t had a comfortable meal together since Adler, the sub and the goddamned missing treasure. Or destroyed treasure – if he wanted to kid himself.

Neal tossed him the rubber band ball and left, a strong sense of urgency in his normally lazy swagger. Peter’s feelings of dread increased; he had Neal’s tracking data pulled, ran it against the information OC provided on DeLuca’s travels through Manhattan and decided to go pay Neal and Moz a visit.

One hour later, he got tired of watching Moz go berserk in the interrogation room. An hour after that, he tried not to let his sympathy for this walking disaster area get in the way of his duties. 

And one day later, he and Neal were back in the saddle. It felt like old times – like everything between them was good and right and damn near perfect. That Neal was his friend and once again someone he could trust with the important things. That he could depend on Neal, that he’d always be there.

There was just a moment – he put his arm around Neal, Neal relaxed against him and El took their picture. The images flashed through his brain like a falling deck of cards. _Neal smiling, sitting on his couch; Neal, his face covered in a week-old scruff, wearing a flannel shirt and hip-waders, flicking a fishing rod across a fast moving stream and grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world; Neal, barely older, wearing a different tuxedo, walking up an aisle with a stunningly beautiful young woman at his side. Neal, standing by a bed, his face ashen, tear-stained._ There were dozens of others, flicking by too quickly to register. And in all of them, there was the unshakable feeling that these were visions of him looking at Neal, not random moments from some indefinable set of futures.

The ride to their brand-new FBI constructed betting parlor was brief and he tried to keep his thoughts focused on the operation, not on what may or may not happen to them.

“You okay?”

He looked at Neal, who was not as relaxed as he was trying to appear. “Yeah, fine. Why do you ask?”

“Hmm – you seemed a little off before.”

“I did? When?”

Neal shrugged. “After we left the house – and now. You usually like to go over the operation point by point. You haven’t said a word.”

He sought some cover. “Just thinking. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to let El visit Mozzie. He’s in a safe house for a reason.”

“Diana’s there. Blake’s there. You’ve got other agents watching the perimeter. Besides, Frank Junior and his thug, Mazzera are going to be engaged for the afternoon. I wouldn’t worry about Elizabeth.”

“I guess you’re right. I should be more concerned about what mischief Moz and my wife will cook up.”

Neal chuckled. Peter had so missed that sound. “Yeah. For some reason, the thought of the two of them left to their own devices is frightening.”

They fell quiet, but Peter didn’t want to let this opportunity pass. “You doing okay, too? You seem a little nervous.”

Neal’s response was heartfelt, but seemed just a little too easy. “I want to get DeLuca off Mozzie’s back. Moz has lived with this for a long time. He should be free.”

“You’re a good friend, Neal.”

“I owe Moz a lot.”

“It’s more than that. I don’t see you as the type to calculate friendship by credits and debits. I think loyalty is part of your DNA.” _And I wonder what would happen if you were forced to choose between us._

__________________

Neal sat at his desk and pretended to work. He flipped through the stack of identity theft cases that he’d been given to review and tried to look busy.

Everything was falling apart around him. Once again, Peter was always at the edge of anger. Neal felt like he was spending all his waking hours walking through minefields.

Mozzie was pushing him hard, too. That damn passport sitting in the hole in the wall was an evil thing. And his skin – it was still out there. Somewhere, lost – maybe forever. 

And Sara walked out on him for some stupid reason. She said he was a conman who lived in the clouds. She just realized that?

If he asked Moz, he would say it all started going wrong when he fell in love with Kate. He allowed himself to become distracted, and every bad thing that had happened since was his own fault. Neal wondered if Moz realized that they were reliving the recent past, and that he was stalling now for the exact same reasons he did then. That it was love that was keeping him here.

He flipped through the folders, trying to keep up the pretense of usefulness. Why did everything have to be so hard? He was old enough to remember when this little island was covered in tall trees and bog. His life should have been one of wealthy ease. Wasn’t compounded interest the greatest benefit of immortality? But he’d never been one for saving – it would have been like admitting that he was to be bound to the dry earth forever. Until recently, whatever wealth he had slipped through his hands like water; his kind had no need for wealth in their rightful kingdom.

So he suffered and struggled over the centuries, constantly repeating lessons he should have learned over and over. In quieter moments, he wondered if he had become addicted to this life, that he needed it more than the cold oceans. 

He should want his skin back. Wherever it was, that should have been his priority. A year ago – a blink of an eye in his long life – he was willing to let it go for Kate and a chance at happiness. Giving the box to Fowler was the only way to prove to Kate that he truly loved her, that he’d give up everything to be with her. But Kate was gone and he should have had no reason to stay. But he did. He had two.

Moz had been the truest friend he’s had since the last time he hauled out of the sea and onto a distant shore. He owed Moz so much, and Moz never said a word to him about that debt. Even if he didn’t follow his friend to some small slice of hell surrounded by crystal clear waters, he had to help him make his own dream come true.

And then there was Peter. 

_Peter._

His feelings for him were too complex to articulate. So strong, they frightened him. If Kate was supposed to be the great love of his life, then what was Peter? The obsession that would spell his doom?

There were so many times he wanted to tell Peter the whole truth. There was that moment at the airport when he turned back. When Peter brought him the music box and they opened it. There were so many opportunities to come clean, and he didn’t – he couldn’t. 

Just a few weeks ago, it looked like he and Peter were good. The old rhythms were back. Peter trusted him. Peter touched him again – a hand on his shoulder, a quick, comradely punch on the arm. It wasn’t as often as it used to be, but it was back and he began to feel a sense of completeness. It was a strange thing, he had never really liked random physical contact, the European habit of cheek kissing annoyed him. But from the beginning, Peter never hesitated to put his hands on him, and Neal didn’t mind it at all. He’d come to look forward to a hand on the small of his back, a heavy arm slung around his shoulder, the heat of Peter’s palm on his forearm. Pushing him, pulling him.

That led him to think about other thoughts, ideas about things that he never really thought he wanted. That heat on him like a blanket, keeping him safe.

That moment on top of the U-boat, when they could have been blown to bits, still had the power to break him – knowing what came after made that moment even harder to bear. Trust had always been a difficult thing between them. 

Neal had thought they were friends – that he could trust Peter. That Peter would protect him, believe in him, stand by him – beside him. And in an instant, that changed. Without warning, Peter turned on him. His heart’s companion became his enemy without reason.

He trusted Peter, but that trust wasn’t returned. And he accepted that. In Peter’s world, limited and mortal that it was, trust was something that had to be earned. And the sea knew that every time he’d earned even a small portion of Peter’s trust, he did something to wreck it.

What was it that Elizabeth said – he constantly did the wrong things for the right reasons? Except that this time, he was doing the wrong things for the wrong reasons.

How ironic. Three hundred some-odd years old, and he was still ruled by his wants and desires like a child. Two centuries ago, the last time he allowed himself to walk the shores along the great North Sea, a selkie hauled out, shed his skin and walked towards him as a man. Six other selkies, his brothers, waited at the very edge of the ocean, three as seals, three as men.

_  
“Athair” **Father**. His soul yearned for the touch of his kin. It had been so long since he’d seen any of his kind._

__  


_“Son.” His father, who had never looked at him with anything less than love and joy, now wore an expression of deep contempt._

__  


_“I’ve missed you, Da. I want to come home.” He stepped towards his father, who took a step back._

__  


_“You know that’s not possible. You’ve lost yourself. You’re not one of us anymore; you are not part of the sea anymore.”_

__  


_“No, don’t say that. Please – I’ll find my skin and I’ll come home. I’ll never leave again. Please let me come home.” **Please**._

__  


_“You are ever the child – no matter how many years you have, you will never grow up.” The words had been said in sorrow but they felt like a curse. The man turned from him and walked back to the edge of the sea. Neal realized that his kin were there not to see him, but to protect his father and his skin. Protect it from him._

__  


The memory of that last meeting still hurt – the words uttered so long ago were as fresh in his memory as if they were just spoken. He swallowed and reached for a tissue, blowing his nose to mask the tears.

“Neal, you okay?”

Blake must have noticed his distraction. “Yeah, headache. Allergies.”

Reaching into his desk drawer, Blake pulled out a box of OTC medication. “I swear by these – they don’t make me drowsy and they do a good job of keeping the sneezies away.”

_“Sneezies?”_ Neal had to grin. Blake may have been a Harvard grad with an MBA from Wharton and an impressive five year stint with a top forensic accounting firm before joining the Bureau, but he was still the equivalent of an Irish Setter puppy. All paws and ears and tail and a bottomless need to please. 

“Yeah, that’s what my mom calls ‘em.” 

Blake grinned back and Neal thought that while the pills might keep the sneezes at bay, Blake could keep the doldrums away. There was something about the kid…

“Hey, you want to have lunch?”

“With you?” Blake looked puzzled.

“Yeah? Is that a problem?”

“Um, no. But you generally have lunch with Agent Burke. Why would you want to have lunch with me?”

Neal shrugged, trying not to make a big deal of it. Truth was, he and Peter hadn’t been doing a lot of lunching lately. “Peter’s busy with something and I’m not really in the mood to eat at my desk. There’s a food truck that does some incredible things with shellfish and it’s near Columbus Park today. If we go now, we shouldn’t have to wait on line too long.”

Blake looked like he was about to agree when Peter stepped out of his office. Neal tried to quell the flutter of anticipation. But there was no reason to get excited.

“Blake – conference room. Bring the Hennessy files.”

Neal smiled to hide his disappointment. Blake said nothing as he grabbed the requested folders and bounded up the staircase. 

Neal sighed. In the four months since Moz stole the treasure, he fell deeper and deeper into the pit. It was easier to go along with Moz's plans than tell him no. It was easier to drift with the tide than haul out onto a storm-tossed shore.

He grimaced at that analogy.

The meeting in the conference room looked like it was going to keep going for a while and he couldn’t bear sitting here, useless and forgotten, for another moment. He picked up his hat and went for a walk. Time to find Sara. Give her back her lock picks and find out just what she knows.

__________________

The lies kept piling up and Moz wondered how much longer he’d be able to take it. He took the skin out of the storeroom – just on the off chance that Neal would show up, sans anklet and wanting a peek at the loot.

They were in Thursday now, enjoying the view.

It looked at him – well, not really looked because it didn’t have eyes. It laid there, with its face towards him, its whiskers occasionally twitching – just enough to remind Moz that it was somewhat alive, somewhat sentient.

It was, strangely enough, a good companion. He’d taken to talking to it, and today he was looking for its opinion. “What do you think, should we sell the Degas or the Rembrandt?” Which one will bring more money?” He actually held up the laptop to show it the items in question, and then put it down. “What am I doing? You can’t see.”

The thing’s whiskers twitched again. 

“Okay, okay – one twitch for the Degas. Two twitches for the Rembrandt.”

Now it didn’t move.

“You’re driving me crazy. Like Neal.”

That provoked a reaction. A ripple went through the skin. 

He repeated the name. “Neal?” 

The whiskers twitched, the nose wrinkled and the whole thing started to quiver. 

“You want Neal?”

It got so excited, it wriggled, flopped about and fell onto the floor.

_Damn._ He picked it up and put it back on the table, pointing a finger and giving it a command. “Stay.” As if it was a dog.

He didn’t know what to do. The minute Neal was reunited with this thing; it was all over for them. His friend would head to the nearest body of water and disappear forever. He’d leave Moz behind. That thought made him sick.

He’d never had a friend like Neal – someone who looked at him and didn’t see just a strange, quirky little man with _issues_. Neal looked at him and saw a human being worthy of love and loyalty and some small amount of trust. He couldn’t let that slip away from him. There were many ties in his life that he severed without looking back. He left that nice foster family even though he probably could have worked it all out. There were the women he’d been with – Isabelle, Gina, Sally. They were all important, but he said goodbye without a second thought. 

Neal, though – that was completely different. He couldn’t let Neal go, Neal was his **_friend_**. If he could have let him go, he would have left with the treasure and never bothered to say goodbye. Neal was the only reason he hadn’t rented a semi and driven the loot to Canada. 

And it was becoming more obvious with every passing day that Neal didn’t want to go with him. Neal may have called him friend, may have shared his deepest secrets with him, but Neal didn’t love him. Not the way he loved The Suit.

At first, he didn’t understand the allure – but not in the same way he could never understand Neal’s feelings for Kate. 

Maybe it was because the man was a challenge. Burke was seemingly incorruptible, straight as the proverbial arrow. From how Neal described him, there shouldn’t have been any attraction. The man was committed to truth, justice and the American Way. A living superhero. Then he finally met The Suit and realized that he was smart – and not just in the way that some of his kind could be. Compassionate too. Had a sense of humor. And a hot wife. And was pretty hot himself, if you liked them tall and muscular with a full head of hair and a really killer smile.

But what made The Suit so dangerous was that he understood the shades of gray that men like him and Neal colored with. He understood them, knew how to use them but never let himself get tainted by them.

And yet, it was more than that. He remembered Neal’s heartbreak when he thought that Peter was holding Kate. And his joy when he found out that he was wrong. He let them put his shackle back on without as much as a whimper. Trying to make sense of that was beyond his abilities. It was like trying to quantify love.

When Neal went for the music box, he had hoped that this meant that he had conquered that unseemly affection – even if it meant that he was going to go find a fixer-upper with a white picket fence and settle down with Kate.

He didn’t know which outcome was worse.

But then it was all blown to bits and nothing was the same anymore.

The skin twitched again and brought him back to the current problem. What to do about this _thing_.

He took a sip of Barolo and stared at it. It stared back. Or at least its face did with those creepy eye sockets. He finished the glass and poured another, downing it without the slightest appreciation for the vintage. Slightly drunk, he tapped its nose, which scrunched up.

“How would you like to spend some time with Peter and Elizabeth Burke?” _Where the hell did THAT idea come from?_

The skin wiggled, not unlike a puppy. 

“You like that idea?”

The whiskers flexed and relaxed. 

“Yes?”

The gesture was repeated.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea made sense. Peter would keep this away from Neal. He would keep it safe and maybe someday, when he was strong enough to let Neal go, he’d tell him the truth. Neal could fetch the skin and do whatever he wanted with it.

Yes, that solved the problem nicely. He just hoped that Peter didn’t take it to a furrier and have a hat made for Mrs. Suit. 

Moz blinked. “Okay then. Problem solved.” Before he could change his mind, he fetched a large box from the storage area, a container of bleach wipes, tape and rubber gloves. He quickly decontaminated the box, spoiling any trace DNA and fingerprints, and carefully laid the skin inside. 

He paused – he needed to give Peter _some_ information. Moz went to one of the overflowing bookcases and pulled out a small box. Once, long ago, he had an interest in gaming and collected quite a few of these pretty cards. Over the years, he sold off or traded away most of his collection, but had kept just a few. 

If he remembered correctly… 

Yes, there was one that depicted a male selkie in the act of shedding his skin. When he kept one eye closed, it actually looked a little like Neal. He showed it to the skin, and got no reaction. 

Moz tossed the card in the box and stroked the skin from head to tail, then gave it a little rub between the eye holes. “Goodbye, my friend. I hope Peter treats you well.” It snuffled at his hand and Moz blinked away a surprise tear. This was something else he was becoming too attached to. Something else he needed to let go of.

He taped the box shut and printed a label with the Suits’ address. It was a reasonable facsimile of one from the sort of catalog company that he thought the Suits might order from, making certain that none of the nearly invisible printer codes that the Government used to track people were on it. He affixed the label and took the box for a ride. Freeport, Maine was nice this time of year.

__________________

“Hey, honey…did you order anything from L. L. Bean?” Elizabeth called upstairs. The postman left a large box from the catalog company inside the foyer. When they were first married, Peter told her to never bring unaccounted-for packages into the house. Not that his work was dangerous, but it would be foolish to take chances.

“What?” Peter was still in the bathroom, and poked his head out.

“L. L. Bean? Did you order anything?” 

“No, not that I recall.”

“Well, there’s a huge box with your name on it. I left it where it was.”

“Good – I’ll be right down.”

She flicked through the mail. A postcard her sister sent from the Bahamas made El smile. They’d been back from that vacation for nearly a month. A few bills. A statement from their broker, a bunch of catalogs. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Except the box, which Satchmo seemed to find extremely interesting. He was sniffing at it like it contained treats. She pulled the dog away and told him to go lay down. Satch reluctantly obeyed.

Peter came down and she just pointed to the foyer. El supposed it helped having a husband with psychometric talents in these cases. She watched as he laid a palm on top of the box and closed his eyes.

“Anything?”

“Hmmm… nothing.” Peter cursed. “This damn talent – never here when I need it.” He kicked it gently. “It’s not very heavy.”

“You sure you didn’t order anything?”

Peter shook his head. “No, not recently.”

She joined him at the front door and they contemplated the mystery package. “Maybe it’s a gift?”

“Who would send us something from L. L. Bean?”

“Oh, lots of people.” She thought for a moment, then reduced that list drastically. “My sister. Your mother.”

Peter seemed to come to a decision and picked up the box. He shook it gently and she heard something slide around.

“I don’t suppose explosives make noise like that?” 

Peter gave her the stink eye. “No, they don’t. But it could be anything.”

“It made it all the way from Freeport, Maine.” She pointed to the U.S. Postal Service label, with the originating ZIP code.

“Hmmm.” Peter’s furrowed brow did its best Sherlock Holmes imitation.

“What?”

“L. L. Bean doesn’t ship through the postal service.” Peter stepped back, hands on his hips.

Elizabeth was getting worried. “Do you want to call the bomb squad?”

“No ,I don’t think so.” 

Satchmo nosed his way between them and started licked and chewing on the box. “Now that’s totally bizarre. I’ve never seen him do that.” The dog was going at it so hard, he pushed the box up against the wall.

“Except for the time that your parents sent us that dried venison from their trip to the Ozarks.”

“So, unless we have a mad bomber who likes to rub his packages with dried meat, I think we can say this is safe to open.”

Peter picked up the box, much to Satchmo’s chagrin, and brought it over to the kitchen island. El fished out a utility knife from her desk and watched as Peter carefully slit the box open. He extended the blade and used it to open the flaps. Nothing happened and they both breathed a sigh of relief. 

But Peter, her beloved professional paranoid, waved her back and put on a pair of rubber gloves. And pulled out what looked like a fur stole. “What the hell is this?”

Satchmo started barking and tried to climb up onto the island.

El pushed the dog aside and ran her hands across the fur. “I think it’s a seal skin.” She rubbed it again and got the crazy feeling that the pelt was rippling in pleasure under her hand, like Satchmo during a good brushing. “Is there anything else in the box?”

Peter turned it upside down and a small card fluttered to the floor. Satchmo, still excited, barked and pawed at it. Peter pulled off the rubber gloves and retrieved it.

She kept on petting the fur. “What does it say?”

“It’s some type of gaming card – we once busted a ring of counterfeiters who were making these. But what’s it doing in the box?” He turned it over, and there was a picture of a young man stepping out of the body of a seal. “Selkie?”

El got the shock of her life with the fur practically wrapped itself around her hand. Satchmo barked.

“Peter, look!”

At El’s shout, he looked up from the card. The fur was alive somehow. Peter reached for it, to yank it away from her.

__________________

Touching it was a mistake – as soon as his hands sunk into the soft pelt, he was bombarded with images. The skin, if possible, leaped from Elizabeth into his arms, the head nuzzling under his chin like a lover seeking comfort. But none of that registered, his brain was overloaded with information. He sank to the floor as the pelt told a story, Neal’s story…

_The sea was cold, but it was home. Dark and bountiful, filled with mystery. His brothers swam beside him, playing and competing for the attention of the females. His father, king of these waters, was always watching from a near distance. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, deep and fathomless, and there was such pride there. Seven sons, seven times the strength of his line. They played in the deep, hunting for food, challenging each other._  


  
_The great whales called, their voices beautiful. They sang – though not with such frequency anymore. The two-leggers were a danger to all of them. Father told them to be careful – to leave them alone. He would have them ignore their nature, to disregard the call of those who’ve been abandoned, shunned, withering away._  


  
_His brothers, all older, were obedient. They accepted Father’s commands. But not him – he felt the pull of the humans. Those lonely women left behind. Time and again, he followed the tide, beaching himself on the rocky beaches where they walked. For the space of a day, an hour, a moment, he gave them what they needed. Then he slipped back into his skin and let the tide wash him out to the deep, cold sea._  


  
_He took his father’s scoldings in good part and ignored them the next time. His mother told him stories of her kin, warning that the male two-leggers would steal his skin and he’d never be able to return to the sea. He’d have no family, no friends. He’d be doomed to a forever life, eternally wandering under a too bright sky._  


  
_He nuzzled her and swam off. He was too smart for the slow, stupid two-leggers. He’d hide his skin with care. There was no danger from creatures with small eyes and lungs than could barely hold enough air to stay underwater for five heartbeats. Who drowned in the great sea with such little effort. Weaklings all._  


  
_He liked to haul out in small coves, onto sheltered beaches. There was one place – a small island where no one came. He’d shed his skin and lie there dreaming in the sun. Dreaming of the cold sea and warm women, wishing he could have both._  


  
_Then a woman came – lovelier than anything he’d ever seen before. Long dark hair – darker than his own pelt, deep blue eyes so large and endless they made the sky seem small. Her voice was more beautiful than the whales, her loneliness more profound._  


  
_Her name was Katherine._  


  
_She called him Neal...because he was so very talented when he was on his knees._  


  
_They played and fucked and then they made love. She taught him to dance, to read, to sing, to draw. To create a world with color and shadow – three dimensions onto a flat surface. He taught her to swim without fear, to love and be loved with her whole heart, to take delight in the moment._  


  
_The seasons changed from summer to winter and then to summer again, and he gave no thought of returning to the sea. The days were long; almost endless in the northern reaches during the warm summers. Through the brief darkness of the night, they clung to each other in the great bed, under the blue canopy in the big house. She told him about her husband, a powerful man who wanted nothing to do with her. He had his mistresses and fancy boys and she didn’t mind in the least. He took her father’s money, called her too tall, too ugly, too stupid as he plowed between her thighs, trying to get children on her._  


  
_She swore that would never happen and showed him what she did to prevent it – a small sea sponge soaked in spirits – the same spirits they drank sometimes – which she pushed up her tight channel._  


  
_Katherine hadn’t expected her husband to banish her to this remote island, but now that she had Neal, she never wanted to leave._  


Peter was able to let go of the skin. It slipped from his hands onto the floor, crawling away. Satchmo barked and dove at it, but El swept it off the floor – holding it away from the dog, away from Peter.

“What should I do with this _thing_?”

Peter got a glass of water and downed it without stopping. He was sweating and anxious. “Just leave it – I need to finish.”

“Finish?”

“Yeah, it’s telling me its history.” He licked his lips. “El, this is Neal’s.”

“What do you mean, it’s Neal’s?”

“This is a selkie’s skin – it belongs to Neal.”

“Why would Neal have a selkie’s …” El paused as she realized just what Peter was telling her. “You mean?” She shook her head in wordless denial.

“Yes, exactly.” Peter refilled the glass and drank again. “He’s a selkie … and if I understand what I’m _seeing_ , he’s very old.” 

El pulled him over to the dining table and sat down with him. He told her what he had seen, as he spoke, so many pieces fell into place. Neal, skilled in ways that no one who’s that young, that _apparently_ young should ever be, his ineffable brilliance. The glimmer of pain he’s seen in those eyes, always so quickly masked. The feeling that he’d never really known who Neal Caffrey was.

And a brief moment of outrage at one very big lie. As if that even mattered anymore.

He tried to get up, El pressed him down into the chair. “You’re not touching that again, Peter.”

“I have to – I have to see it to the end. Please, El.”

She gave him a look – she didn’t like what he was going to do, but she understood. His Elizabeth – he wondered if he could survive without her. 

She brought the pelt over and spread it out onto the table. Peter almost laughed when the head lifted up and looked at both of them. Even without eyes, it was filled with personality. So very much like Neal.

He forced himself to relax and slowly rested his hands on the fur. There was a small bite of static electricity this time, and the images came, not so furious, but still overwhelming.

_They were in the big bed, happily spent from hours of joyous sex. He leaned up on an elbow and reached for the wine bottle and the single glass they shared. Katherine smiled at him._  


  
_“What do you want to do?”_  


  
_“What do you mean, do?”_  


  
_“Well, we can’t stay here forever.”_  


  
_“Why not? This is nice. It’s safe. The sea is close…”_  


  
_“You want to go back to the sea?” There was a touch of panic in her voice._  


  
_“No, not go back, but I don’t think I could bear to live far from it. It’s my …” He paused, trying to find the right words. “It holds my soul. Can you understand that?”_  


  
_Katherine nodded. “There’s always Italy. Maybe we can find a place on the coast. Something comfortable.”_  


  
_“Have you been to this place? This Italy?”_  


  
_“Yes,when I was a little girl. My father was a friend of the Duke of Modena and we lived there until I was twelve.”_  


  
_“Did you like it?”_  


  
_“Oh, yes, it was a wonderful place. The Duke’s summer palace overlooked the sea. The water is as blue as your beautiful eyes. You would love the art.”_  


  
_“I would?”_  


  
_“Yes, darling. You have an artist’s soul.” She took a sip of the wine and Neal took one too, putting his lips at the same place as hers. But before he could swallow, the bedroom door burst open and a large, angry man strode in, followed by a half dozen liveried servants._  


  
_“My slut of a wife and her half-animal lover together in bed. How very perfect.” Two of the men with him seized Neal and threw him onto the floor. He struggled, but the men had the advantage of weight and leverage, pushing him down on the cold wood. All he could see was his attackers’ feet_  


  
_Katherine’s husband gave an order and Neal’s blood ran cold. “Search the room, search the whole house – I want that skin found.”_  


  
_Katherine’s scream was cut short, Neal heard the hard sound of a fist hitting flesh. His lover let out a cry of pain and was silenced._  


  
_“You couldn’t keep your legs shut, you whore. You thought you wouldn’t give me children – that doesn’t give you license to rut with animals.”_  


  
_Neal saw the man’s boot before it connected with his ribs. Again and again and again. He had never felt such agony._  


  
_There was a shout of triumph and the kicking stopped. Katherine’s husband knelt down next to him. “Animal, you are going to know so much pain before you die. You’ll wish you’d never hauled your filthy carcass out of the sea. You should have stayed with your own kind.” He stood up and dangled his skin in front of him. “I could burn this and damn you to Hell, but I won’t. It has power, and it will be a gift to the most powerful of all. I thought you should know that.”_  


  
_Katherine was sobbing. “How did you find out?”_  


  
_“Your maid – I pay her salary. She writes to me of just what you are doing. Get dressed. We leave on the tide.”_  


  
_“No, I’m not going with you. You can’t make me.”_  


  
_“Wife – you are my property, to do with as I will. I can beat you every moment of every day, so long as I don’t use a stick wider than my thumb. You will give me children. You will obey me. And if you are good, you may see your brats. If you disobey, I will have you locked up in Bedlam for the rest of your life.”_  


  
_Katherine fell silent and the last that Neal ever saw of her was the soles of her bare feet, still a little dirty from their dance in the garden, as she was dragged away from him._  


  
_The men left behind dragged him down the stairs and out into the stable. They beat him with their fists, they kicked him. Someone took a horsewhip and flayed him until he finally passed out._  


Peter held onto the skin for a few more moment, unaware of the tears pouring down his face. There wasn’t much left to see. Just darkness, the greedy touch of an old woman, more darkness, long centuries of such darkness and then the touch of hands made of fear and hatred. The sea was so close, but it was impossible to reach.

A small two-legger with a second set of eyes finally rescued him, and he could feel himself – his other self nearby. Always close, but like the sea, never close enough. A short time of darkness again. And at last, the light.

Peter finally let go of the selkie’s pelt and wiped his face, surprised at the wetness. “Oh, El.”

She wrapped her arms around him and he took such comfort in her nearness. “Can you tell me?”

He didn’t go into great detail, it hurt too much. But he was able to give Elizabeth the broad strokes without breaking down into a complete wreck.

“What are you going to do?”

Trust Elizabeth to get to the core of the matter.

“I don’t know.” He pressed his palms against his eyes; to blot out the sea of problems he saw building. “I just don’t know. What right to I have to keep this from Neal? What right do I have to give it to him? If I do, he goes.”

“That’s why Mozzie sent it to you.”

“Moz sent it? How could you know that?”

“It’s obvious, hon. Neal probably told Moz years ago. Moz must have found this with the treasure. He doesn’t want Neal to have it.”

_The treasure._ “What the hell am I going to do, El? If Moz does have the treasure, Neal’s been helping him hide it. And then I have to wonder, why are they both still here?”

“Let’s solve one problem at a time. What should we do with the skin?”

“We?”

“Yes, _we_. Are we going to give it back to Neal?”

“ _I_ can’t. Regardless of what Neal is, he’s still the ward of the Federal prison system, he’s still in my custody. I can’t let him just disappear into the nearest body of water.” He took a shuddering breath. “And I don’t want to let him go – he’s my friend, he’s too important to me.” Peter closed his eyes and saw Neal walking away from him, walking towards an airplane and a new life.

“You can’t let him go because you love him.”

All the fight went out of Peter; he rested his head against El’s shoulder. At the touch of a soft, furry body, he looked down. The skin had wriggled close and rested its head on the back of his hand. Peter smiled. “Yes, I love him.”

* * *

“Get out of the car.” He sat up from his hiding place in the back seat of Hale’s ancient Cadillac and pointed a gun at the old man’s head. 

“No.” 

Hale met his eyes in the rearview mirror, and he must have seen something that frightened him. Maybe it was the gun. “Don’t be stupid.” Keller tapped the silencer against his head, using it to flick at Hale’s trademark golf cap. “Get out, make it easy on yourself.”

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, Keller.”

“Ah, I see you know who I am.”

“Yeah, Matthew Keller, murderer, thief, kidnapper, all around low-life scum.”

“Such a harsh assessment from the last of the gentleman fences.” He allowed himself a small chuckle. “I’d resent it, if it wasn’t all true.” His voice hardened, all humor gone. “Get out of the car. Now.”

Hale finally obeyed. “What do you want?”

“Our mutual friends, Moz and Neal Caffrey, have contacted you about selling a certain piece of artwork that’s recently ‘surfaced’ so to speak.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And somehow, I don’t think Mozzie or Neal would ever call you a friend.” The old man was stubborn.

“Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” 

Hale kept his mouth shut and glared at him.

“I guess it will be the hard way.” There was a hissing pop as he shot the old man’s right kneecap.

Keller tilted his head as he watched Hale go down on one leg. He had no sympathy for his victim. Hale had something he wanted, and he was going to get it regardless. “Next will be your shoulder. Tell me what you know about Caffrey’s find.”

“I have no clue …”

A dark stain spread across Hale’s upper arm. “I bet that hurts.” He pulled out a cell phone and pressed three numbers. “Tell me what I want to know, and I can have an ambulance here in a few minutes.” He let his thumb hover over the dial button.

“Go to hell, I’m not telling you anything.”

“Tsk, tsk … I guess you’re not such a gentleman after all.” He put his phone away and shot Hale again, in the other shoulder. “There are twelve rounds left, and I’ve got all day. Or you can make it easy on yourself and tell me what I want to know.”

“Drop dead.”

Keller sighed. Why did things always have to be so hard? He bent down next to Hale and pulled his hand away from his bleeding shoulder. He balanced the muzzle against the palm. He pulled the trigger. “Eleven, now. How long can you keep this up?”

“Fuck you.” The old man was wheezing now, his face sweating and contorted in pain.

He shot clean through Hale’s elbow. “Ten left. And I’m a man of infinite patience. Dragging this out only makes it worse for you.” Hale said nothing as he shot him in the legs and feet. He was honestly surprised that the old man was still conscious.

“Five more, but all it takes is one between the eyes to end this.” He trailed the now-hot end of the silencer against Hale’s cheek, admiring the burn it left behind, how his sweat and tears turned to steam.

“Please…”

“Now you’re begging? What do you want?”

“Finish it.”

“Tell me what I want to know and it’s all over.”

Hale closed his eyes and his breath began to stutter. Keller wondered if he’d pushed this too far.

“LaRoque. Raquel LaRoque. That’s all that Caffrey wanted.”

Matthew sighed and shook his head. He wasn’t going to get anything more out of the old man. But he’d keep his promise. He pressed the silencer against Hale’s chest and pulled the trigger for the last time.

__________________

Hale was dead.

Moz had always prided himself on his distaste for violent action. Perhaps that was what made his friendship and partnership with Neal work so well. Neither of them thought that there was any need to resort to violence to get what they wanted. If they couldn’t outthink their mark, if they couldn’t be the clever men they knew they were, there was no point to the score.

But standing on the roof of the parking structure in Long Island City – Hale’s favorite meeting place – and looking down at his old friend’s dead body, he wondered what it would feel like to exact vengeance upon his murderer. To do to him what he had done to this dear, sweet gentleman.

He called 911, and a few minutes later the local PD showed up. They didn’t want to listen to him, they pushed him out, aside. They didn’t understand. 

Hale was more than a friend, he was a father, a mentor. In his own way, he was the New York version of Mister Jeffries. He had taken in a lonely, frightened twelve year old boy, kept him safe, and shared with him his knowledge and his love for beautiful things. He taught Moz everything he knew. Now he was dead.

Brutally dead.

He had an idea who did this, but he could prove it if those goddamned local heroes would let him get to Hale’s Cadillac.

Moz swallowed his rage when Neal and Peter arrived. At least the Suit had some authority and was willing to exercise it. He showed Peter the video setup in the trunk of Hale’s Cadillac and they watched it play on the small monitor. 

The sight of Keller rising up from the backseat, gun in hand, threatening a gentle old man almost sent him over the edge. Peter shut down the feed just after the first pop of Keller’s gun. He didn’t try to stop him – that sound was forever etched in his memory.

Matthew Keller would pay; he’d pay very dearly for this. He’d pay with his life. Moz might loathe violence, but he had friends who made their living by it. Friends in high places and low ones, too. The Suit might talk about justice, but Moz knew the system, and Moz knew Keller. The only justice for that animal was going to come from the end of a gun.

__________________

Neal stepped out of the shadows, sick of listening to Keller’s taunts. “I don’t have the treasure or this skin you’re talking about.”

“You don’t deserve to have it. You may have been born with it, but you lost it once, and you’re going to lose it again.”

The sneer in Matthew Keller’s voice was nothing compared to the bitter dialogue that had played out through his head for centuries. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Neal, we both know that little story you told me in Nice all those years ago was no fairy tale. You’re the selkie. You lost your skin and just when you think you can get it back, it slipped away again.”

“You know, you might want to see a psychiatrist about those delusions you’ve been having. I understand that they can be treated on an out-patient basis these days.”

“Very funny, Caffrey. Keep up the pretense, but it’s not going to keep me from both the treasure and your skin.”

They stalked each other around the mezzanine of the old Beekman Palace, the Beaux-Arts structure sadly decrepit now. Keller’s gun didn’t waver and Neal didn’t take his eyes off of it. It was a slow dance, a tango of murderous intent.

“Tell me, Keller – why do you want this skin? If it even exists.”

“Oh, it exists all right. Your Feds were rather sloppy after the warehouse exploded. Papers went flying all over the place. Three blocks away, I found a few pages from the U-boat’s manifest. Two Rembrandts, a Van Dyke, three panels from the Amber Room and one magical seal skin.”

Neal didn’t move. He could feel his heart pounding like it was about to burst free of his body.

“What, Moz didn’t tell you? Or...maybe he lied to you?”

Rage nearly overtook Neal, an anger so deep he thought he could rip Keller apart with his bare hands. But caution spoke to him too. Peter and the FBI were on their way. This was going to end right here, right now.

“That’s interesting – but meaningless. I don’t have the treasure.” It almost hurt to keep his tone level, disinterested. “But you haven’t answered my question. What do you plan to do with this skin if you ever find it. If it even exists.”

“Oh, kill you and tap its power.” Keller’s words were so reasonable.

“Come on, Keller, what power? Even if it’s real – it’s an animal skin. You’d do just as well to get a fur coat. Personally, I think you’d look stunning in curly lamb.”

“Har har har. But when are you ever going to learn, I always come out on top.” Keller raised the gun, but Neal knew that he was bluffing. If he wanted the skin’s magic, he needed Neal alive to take it. “There’s no one coming, Neal. Not your FBI friends, not Moz. No cavalry is riding to the rescue this time.”

Neal caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, a brief flash of white. _Peter_. “Oh, I don’t think so...”

The FBI descended on them like the wrath of god. Diana was about to cuff Keller when a shot rang out. Despite the amount of firepower brought to bear, Keller escaped in the chaos. But the shooter didn’t – it was the lovely and ever-so-dangerous Raquel LaRoque.

She left him cold. On paper, they should have been a perfect match. She was brilliant, an expert in a subject Neal found intriguing, and had a rather voracious criminal appetite. To employ a cliché, her lips had sin written all over them. He’d use her, if he had to – just as she’d use him. But there’d only be pleasure there, no deeper feeling. Which was fine, if that was all that was available. He still had a man’s appetites.

And he had bigger issues to deal with. Keller’s claim that his skin was part of the U-boat treasure. Which meant that Moz lied to him. Had been lying to him from the beginning of this debacle.

He drifted through Peter’s interrogation, supplying plausible answers to the questions Peter threw at him. This time, the other man’s coldness washed over him like the outgoing tide. For once, he didn’t care if Peter believed him or not. His mind kept revolving around the news that someone took out a hit on Keller – was willing to pay six million to see him dead. Which was, quite coincidentally, the black market price of “their” Degas, less the fence’s commission.

Mozzie’s timing was perfect, or terrible depending on the point of view. He actually knocked before coming in and Neal confronted him instantly.

“You sold the Degas. You sold it without asking me.” He bit his tongue to keep the next accusation from flying out of his mouth.

“And you never told me that Sara knew about the warehouse. I guess we’re keeping secrets from each other now.”

The conversation descended into bickering madness, and Neal all but threw the copy of the manifest page at Moz. But for some reason, he kept his tongue about Keller’s taunts. He’d deal with that later – the lies Moz had told to him about the most important thing in his life. It was easier to worry about recovering the painting than to contemplate the loss of both his future and this friendship.

Moz stalked out without a word.

Neal didn’t sleep for the next three nights. The fourth morning after their argument was Hale’s funeral. They were both pallbearers, and even after the Mass and the burial, Moz still wouldn’t talk to him. He shunned him, turning his back as if they were the bitterest of enemies meeting on neutral ground. 

Maybe he deserved this. Or maybe – and a sour thought came to him – Moz was feeling guilty about his own secrets and was using this as an excuse. But Neal knew his friend’s weaknesses; he knew just how to draw him out.

All it would take was a piece of sidewalk chalk, a phone call from an unregistered cell and the vaguest hint of a conspiracy theory.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


Moz needed some time, just a little respite. He needed to concentrate on all the good things that were about to happen, once he and Neal left New York behind. He was certain that Neal would cave into his ultimatum, and once they got the Degas back, they could leave for good. Truth was, they didn’t need much to get going. A couple of hundred thousand – enough to get the art on a trailer and then a ship, bound for the Canary Islands, plus the forged documents. The scam Neal had sold to Lawrence would work just fine for real.

But at this moment, he just needed to dream a little. Dream about a small island in the Mediterranean with groves of grape vines and olive trees nurtured by the warm sea breezes. Dream about a villa where there were just two people in residence, him and Neal. Neal would get his stash out of the storage lockers and bank vaults; they’d display the art and _objets_ they didn’t sell. It would be paradise.

He didn’t want to think about betrayals: Neal’s, with the manifest and his obvious reluctance to leave the custody of his jailers, his own even greater betrayal. 

Moz wondered what the Suit had done with Neal’s skin. At least they hadn’t thrown it out. He had taken to stalking their garbage, and there was no sign of it. Moz was never so grateful for mandatory recycling and Mrs. Suit’s fastidious housekeeping. He figured, in a few decades, when he was too old and tired to care anymore, he’d confess to Neal what he’d done. He’d make arrangements to retrieve the skin and Neal, forever young, could go back to the sea.

He flipped through a variety of Hawaiian shirts, each one uglier than the next and let the fantasies play out in his head. Women of all shapes and sizes would parade across his island paradise – and it didn’t matter that they weren’t impressed by his lack of physical gifts. His wealth and status would be enough to attract them.

And that fantasy evaporated when a small dark-haired troll, angry and murderous with an open butterfly knife and a half-eaten mango appeared in the mirror. He turned around, carefully.

“Keller. _Quel … surprise_.” He hoped he didn’t sound as terrified as he felt. There was nothing like coming face to face with a man on whom you had taken out a hit.

They sparred, but it was clear that Keller was the winner in this little game. 

“I’m giving you a single chance, Mozzie. A single chance to keep just a part of the treasure and all of your life.”

Keller’s death threat didn’t really worry him. “Even if I had this so-called treasure, why would I share as much as a cracked nineteenth century replica of a Renaissance era copy of a Greek amphora with you?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Caffrey that you have his skin.”

Moz blinked and went into panic mode. “What the HELL are you talking about? Neal’s skin?”

“Oh, come on, Mozzie. You know what Neal is. You’ve probably known for a long time.”

It was a strain not to pull off his glasses and start wiping them. “And what exactly is Neal supposed to be?”

Keller gave him a look, like he was considering using that knife on him, rather than the mango. “Mozzie, Mozzie, Mozzie...let’s stop playing these little games. Neal is a selkie who has lost his skin. He told me all about it one day when we were tired of fucking and there was nothing left to drink.”

“He never would have told you that.” Beyond the fear, Moz felt a little sick – that Neal once trusted this monster enough to tell him his secrets.

“Oh, he never outright said, ‘Matthew, my dearest, I’m an immortal selkie.’ It was all allegory and ‘once upon a time’ bullshit, but it doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines.”

“Regardless what you think Neal is, regardless of whatever ‘treasure’ you think we may have – you are a dead man. Someone’s going to put you down really soon.”

“Nice try, Moz. And just for that, I’ve decided to take the offer to share off the table. I want everything now – the treasure, the skin. If you won’t give it to me of your own volition, I’m going to have to make you do it.” Keller grinned, handed him the mango and just walked off – licking his fingers like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Moz thought briefly about calling the Feds, but made bigger problems than getting gutted by Keller, like explaining just what the bastard wanted with him. Complaining about random threats by a psychotic killer wasn’t going to cut it – not with the Suits, not with Peter. And what Moz couldn’t figure was why Keller wanted Neal’s skin, and how the hell he even knew that the skin was part of the treasure. Even if he and Neal agreed to give in to Keller’s demands, they both knew that only one person was going to walk out of that storeroom alive.

__________________

Neal balanced himself on the ledge and blinked at the bright early morning sunlight. He was tempted to let the wind just take him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement in the room. Peter and Diana were confronting Richardson. Neal took a deep breath and wondered if this was going to be the last time he saw Peter. It hurt beyond measure to think that he’d go into oblivion with this bitterness between them. The bitterness that was his fault.

Keller had the right of it – he should have either left with Moz, or turned the treasure into the Feds. Staying here, trying to have both his friendship with Moz and his … friendship with Peter was wrong. Jones had it right, choices are sacrifices.

All his life, he’d been giving everything up for what he thought he wanted most: his skin and the ability to return to the sea. He gave up on art and literally centuries of study with some of the greatest artists in history. He gave up on friends and lovers and relationships until he didn’t know how to trust anyone or anything.

The wind pushed at his back, urging him to go. Neal tossed his hat into the abyss and pushed away. The free fall lasted a few seconds, the ground rushing up at him before he pulled the cord. A benign god was looking out for him today. There were no cars and this normally busy street was free of pedestrians. He shrugged out of the chute, picked up his hat, handed off the tube with the authentic Degas to Moz and made his way back into the building. Moz had conveniently left a piece of duct tape over the latch on the service exit and it was a short crawl through the ductwork and over the partition wall to get back into the room where Peter left him.

Listening to Kramer authenticate _The Entrance of the Masked Dancers_ was a little bit of an ego boost. It had been one of his favorite works even when he watched Degas draw it back in 1884, and he’d taken pleasure in recreating it several times over the course of the last century. He wondered if the one that the Nazis stole from Tsarskoye Selo was the original or the one hanging in the Clark Institute in Massachusetts was. It was quite possible that both were his, and not Degas’. He had always loved those little dancers – their intensity, their lack of guile. It was a pity that the artist himself was such a bastard, consumed by nationalism and a fierce and unwavering anti-Semitism. Neal never understood that type of hatred, the condemnation of a people just because of their beliefs were different.

“So it’s real?” There was so much hope in Peter’s question that Neal wondered if he had the Marshals on speed dial, just a single button to press to send him back to prison for life.

“The signature is dead on.”

Neal fought to keep a smile off his face. He’d been recreating Degas’ signature for over a century, it _should_ perfect.

He tried to cast some doubt, and as he could have predicted, Peter shut him up. Kramer was the only one he was listening to now. Kramer, the mentor’s voice of reasoned coldness – Peter would hear no other now. But the old man, in a surprising moment of graciousness, turned the magnifying glass over to him.

He made the smallest pretense of looking. “These microcracks are slightly immature for a work that’s supposed to be over a hundred years old.” Neal held his breath, waiting for Kramer to confirm his statement. It was the truth, but Kramer was so dead set against him, he wondered if he’d claim the painting was authentic just to see him back in jail.

“You have a good eye, Mr. Caffrey. A little more time in the oven … it would have had me fooled.”

He let out an infinitesimal sigh of relief, then caught the look of puzzled dismay on Peter’s face and it hit him: Peter wanted him to be guilty. Despite everything, he’d rather be right than be his friend, he’d rather see Neal in jail for the rest of his life just to prove that no one was better, smarter, more dogged than Peter Burke. That it was all about winning and the rules and not about what there was between them. 

He couldn’t stop himself. “I’m sorry, Peter. I know how much you wanted this.” _How much you want to get rid of me and protect your career and be the invincible, perfect Peter Burke._

Neal walked out, and he knew just how wrong he was about Peter. Because it wasn’t about winning or being right. It was about betrayal, his betrayal. His lies and half-truths and manipulations. The so-very careful balancing act he needed to perform because he didn’t want to choose between that which he wanted and that which he wanted more. 

Neal had lived a very long time, he had suffered and lost more than he could tally, but this was maybe the very lowest moment of his life. To twist the knife he had jammed into the heart of someone he loved so very much.

__________________

Peter couldn’t say why he pushed Neal into the holding room rather than taking him up to Richardson’s apartment. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that Neal regularly carried a set of lock picks, and it wasn’t as if there would be any way for Neal to use them. But he was so confused. Everything in him that once called Neal Caffrey his friend didn’t want to believe that Neal had stolen the treasure. But he couldn’t ignore Kramer’s wisdom and he couldn’t forget that everything he knew about Neal was a lie. He wasn’t angry that Neal had never told him what he was – he didn’t know if he would have believed him if he hadn’t _seen_ it, but it made everything so difficult.

Nor could he forget about the skin, which was locked up in his gun safe in the basement. El made a production of going down there every day and taking it out, talking to it, petting it, but Peter didn’t want to look at it. It was a quasi-living symbol of his dilemma with Neal.

Peter forced himself to focus on recovering the Degas. He hoped and feared that he’d be able to learn what he needed to know when he found the painting. That he’d touch it and see a Frenchman in nineteenth century clothing stroking oil pastels onto canvas-stretched paper. 

The artwork was easily discovered, hidden behind the backing of a rather ugly piece of post-Modernist dreck in an equally appalling frame. It was the tilt of that picture in an otherwise meticulous collection that tipped him off. Diana peeled back the brown paper, revealing another painting. Released from its imprisonment, one edge of the concealed artwork curled up. He donned the archival gloves he brought with him for just this purpose and carefully lifted the edge a little higher. It was the Degas. 

Peter held his breath, waiting for something. But like most times when he called on this frustrating, infuriating, erratic talent, nothing happened. What was the fucking point if it didn’t work when he needed it? By the time he returned to the lobby and “retrieved” Neal, he had worked himself into a low-simmering fury.

When he opened the door of the holding room, he got a few vague impressions – the rush of air, bright sunlight, deep melancholy and a touch of satisfaction. All of which he promptly forgot when he watched Neal’s eyes light up at the sight of the rolled up painting in his hand.

“You found it?” That breathless anticipation, that utter lack of guile, Neal was such a master at pretense, it was hard not to respect and admire it, even as it infuriated him.

“Don’t get your hopes up; Kramer still has to weigh in.”

They rode back to the office in near silence. It was just the two of them now; Diana and Clinton were riding with Richardson and the rest of the recovered artwork. The painting, the potentially damning evidence, was rolled into a protective container and tucked next to him, between the driver’s seat and the console. The way he felt right now, he wouldn’t put it past Neal or Mozzie to engineer a switch when they were stopped at a traffic light.

He found a parking spot in front of the Federal Building and practically pulled Neal inside. As they rode up in the elevator, he held the tube in his left hand and kept a tight grip on Neal’s arm with his other. The emotions radiating off of Neal were a dissonant symphony; anger, pain, fear, and underneath everything a deep, chiming note of longing and grief. Peter wasn’t sure what Neal was longing for, and for whom he was grieving. In another time, he might have sat down with him, tried to talk things through. But not now, not when the proof of Neal’s betrayal was in his hands.

Kramer was ready for them in the conference room. He gave a running commentary about the quality of the painting – actually, a pastel drawing. Kramer loved the French Impressionists and was considered one of the world’s leading experts. His monographs on Monet and Degas were required reading for anyone studying nineteenth century European art. His pronouncement on the authenticity of this work would be definitive.

“The signature is dead on.”

Peter listened to his mentor talk his way through the authentication process, but his eyes were on Neal. He didn’t know what he expected to see: fear, worry, anxiety – the emotions that rolled off of Neal in the elevator? But instead, all he saw was the keen intellectual curiosity he’d come to associate with Neal on an art case. He’d seen the same eagerness on dozens of occasions. It was as if Neal had no stake in the outcome, even though Kramer’s pronouncement would mean the difference between freedom and a life in prison.

_A life in prison – how do you do that to someone, something that’s immortal? How do you do that to someone you loved so much?_

Neal gestured to the top of the painting. “Degas was losing his sight toward the end…there’s a crispness…”

He quickly shut Neal up – this wasn’t his show. But Kramer concurred with Neal. They started talking about linseed oil and drying patterns, Kramer gave over the magnifying glass and Neal dismissively pointed out that the microcracks were inconsistent with the apparent age of the artwork.

“So it’s a forgery?”

Kramer nodded. He didn’t know what to feel. He wanted the mystery solved, he wanted to know just what happened, he wanted … what? To throw Neal back in prison for all eternity?

Peter looked at Neal and there was nothing there, no look of vindication, no triumph. Just a hint of bitterness as their eyes met.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I know how much you wanted this.” 

Bile rose in the back of his throat – he’d never known Neal to be this vicious, this cruel, and he wanted to cry. To hear someone who he’d once killed to protect boil their friendship down to nothing more than thwarted justice was devastating.

He barely heard Kramer’s words of consolation, he was right of course. They got an arms dealer off the streets; they recovered other works that had been missing or stolen. But he couldn’t let it go, and when Kramer inadvertently reminded him that he had one of the world’s best forgers sitting in his bullpen, he wanted to shout, “Game on, Neal.”

The long day came to a very anticlimactic end. Kramer and Agent Matthews headed back to D.C., Diana came in for a post-mortem, but he didn’t feel like chatting. He flipped through some case notes, trying the figure out just how Neal did it. Not the forgery, but the switch. The forgery and the rest of all Neal’s amazing skills made perfect sense now. He wouldn’t be surprised if Neal had actually studied with Degas or Monet or any of the artists that he liked to copy. 

No, what he couldn’t figure out was how Neal swapped the paintings. The stalled-out elevator was probably part of it, but it would have been impossible for Neal to get up and get down from the penthouse using the stairs. It didn’t make any sense. 

He scrubbed at his face, weary and sad beyond words. His phone rang – it was Elizabeth, a most welcomed distraction. He told her about the day’s debacle, and his utter frustration, and for the first time in a long time, voiced his worry about Neal, about what would happen to him when this all blew up in his face.

“Come home, have dinner, relax with a bottle of your favorite beer, and continue working on the case. Because you are …”

“A workaholic?”

“Peter Burke, The Archeologist.”

“Thanks, hon. See you soon.”

He ended the call and looked at the array of papers and files scattered over his desk. It was time to call it quits, if just for a little while. He took the elevator down to the parking garage; then remembered he left his car on the street after the operation this afternoon. Exhausted, Peter got into the car and every one of his senses went on high alert. There was a strange cell phone on the dashboard. It rang, a tinny rendition of “shave and a haircut” playing over and over.

He picked it up and his heart stopped. He saw his dog injected with something and collapsing, he saw El fighting as men carried her out of their home. He felt her terror.

“Agent Burke, working late again. Persistent, aren’t you.”

“Keller.”

* * *

Elizabeth didn’t know what to do about Neal and her husband. There were times that she wanted to take a frying pan and knock the stupid out of both of them. Although lately, Neal was more of a target for her aggravation than Peter. And her compassion too.

Six years ago, when Peter came home with a bottle of champagne and the biggest bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen, she knew that something was, well, wrong.

_  
“We got him, honey!”_  


  
_“Who?”_  


  
_“Caffrey – we got him. Like a rat in a trap.” Peter paused. “Well not exactly a rat. More like a lovesick moose. Or maybe one of those swans that mate for life.”_  


  
_She was confused. “Hon?”_  


  
_“Neal was looking for his girlfriend. For some reason, she was hiding from him.”_  


  
_“Why was she doing that? Was she scared of him? I can’t picture the Neal Caffrey you’ve told me about being abusive.”_  


  
_Peter shrugged. “I don’t know why. And I don’t think he’d as much lay a hand on her than pick up a gun and shoot somebody. Kate Moreau was always an enigma.” He shook his head, as if dismissing the disturbing thought of Neal taking a hand or a fist to a woman. “Anyway – we put out word that Kate was working out of a storage unit in Queens, and just waited there for Neal to show up. Classic stakeout and takedown.”_  


  
_“So what’s wrong, hon?”_  


  
_Peter gave her a searching look and licked his lips. “How do you know something’s wrong?”_  


  
_“You seem a little troubled.”_  


  
_He hauled her close and kissed her. “So you’re the psychic one now?”_  


  
_El rested her head against her husband’s strong chest, enjoying the steady beat of his heart. “No – but I know you.”_  


  
_Peter sighed. “I can’t keep anything from you, can I?”_  


  
_She looked up at him. “No, hon. You can’t.”_  


  
_“I wasn’t going to touch Caffrey. I really wasn’t. I even had Jones put the cuffs on him. But…”_  


  
_“But what?”_  


  
_“He held out his hand. Like some old-school gentleman thief. Like we were equals.” He looked away, to some point on the wall or through a window. “I had to take it – I’d been chasing this ghost, this shadow for the better part of three years, I’ve admired him in ways that no lawman should ever admire a criminal, and he looks at me like no one’s business. What was I going to do, snub him?”_  


  
_“Oh, hon. What did you see?” Peter didn’t answer her right away and she got a small, hard knot in her belly. “Peter?”_  


  
_“I see us.”_  


  
_“Honey?” Elizabeth almost didn’t want to know what that “us” meant. She’d long come to terms with Peter’s interest – and yes, attraction – to Neal._  


  
_“The three of us – we’re friends. We become a lot more than friends.”_  


  
_“Lovers?”_  


  
_Peter nodded his head. “Neal and me, you and Neal, the three of us.”_  


  
_She took a deep breath. “Okay.”_  


  
_“Okay?”_  


  
_“Yeah, okay.”_  


  
_“Just like that?”_  


  
_“What, are you upset that I’m not angry?”_  


  
_“No, no…it’s just. I didn’t think you’d take this so calmly.”_  


  
_It was her turn to shrug. “Neal’s facing a lengthy prison sentence, he’s clearly obsessed with this girl, Kate. This future may not come to pass. If it happens, it happens.”_  


  
_“And if it doesn’t?”_  


  
_“That’s a question I should ask you. What will you do if it doesn’t?_  


“That sauce smells awfully good, Mrs. Burke.”

Startled, heart pounding, Elizabeth dropped the spoon she was using to stir the simmering pot and spun around. There was a short, dark haired man leaning against her back door. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but he radiated menace. 

“When you let your dog out, you really should remember to lock the door behind you.”

“Satchmo…” She knew that her dog was the least of her concerns right now.

“Don’t worry – I just gave him a little something to make him sleepy. But he’s such a friendly animal I almost didn’t need to. I would have thought an FBI agent would have something a little more ferocious guarding his most precious possessions.”

El reached behind her, silently damning the new kitchen – she used to keep the knives in a block on the counter – now there were in a fancy, custom-built drawer that she couldn’t get to. 

“Don’t do anything stupid, Elizabeth. May I call you Elizabeth?” 

She tried to keep calm. This man was no stranger. “No, you may not. You may leave my house and never come back, Matthew Keller.”

“And here I thought we could be friends, _Elizabeth._ ”

“Why would I want to be friends with you? You’re an animal. You had my husband kidnapped, you would have killed him.”

Keller grimaced. “You know, if I were you, I’d do everything I could to keep me sweet.” He stepped away from back door and let in three very large men in ski masks.

She sent up a small prayer. _At least he plans on letting me live._

“We can do this the easy way, or you can get hurt. Badly.” They crowded her against the stove. One of the men pulled out a black pillow case and a roll of duct tape.

“Why are you doing this?” She couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice anymore and she backed up again the stove. Maybe if she flung the pan of hot sauce, she’d be able to make a break for it.

“It’s simple. Your husband can get me what I want. He just needs the proper motivation.”

“What do you want?” She kept stalling, reaching back, first turning off the burner.

“The treasure that Neal and Mozzie stole out from under everyone’s noses.”

El didn’t say anything.

“What, you’re not protesting their innocence?”

“Would it make a difference?”

“Not in the least.” Keller nodded to the hulking men and they took a step back. “Now come away from the stove.” 

She took a deep breath. This was the moment. She reached for the pot, but before she could throw it, Keller’s hand clamped down on her wrist, crushing the delicate bones. The pot slid down the cabinets onto the floor, staining everything bright red, like blood.

Keller didn’t let go, squeezing harder and harder until she heard the bones make a sickening cracking sound. Elizabeth thought she’d vomit from the pain.

“I told you not to be stupid.” He let go and backhanded her across the face. 

She fell to her knees, whimpering. Someone dropped the pillowcase over her head and pulled it taut. The sound of the tape as it was pulled from the roll was obnoxious. The smell of it was even worse as someone – one of the henchman or Keller himself – used it to secure the makeshift hood around her neck and then over her mouth. She nearly passed out when her wrists were taped together.

“Sweetheart, I told you we could do this easy or you could get hurt. You chose to ignore me.” Keller whispered in her ear and she thrashed her head to get away from that voice.

The world shifted as she was lifted up and carried. Despite the pain, despite the fear, she kicked and struggled and tried to cry out, hoping that someone would intervene. Down the front stairs – all nine of them and then more pain as her body hit a hard surface. 

The last thing Elizabeth felt was someone pulling up her blouse and pressing a cold metal _thing_ against her belly. The sudden pain was intense, awful and her bladder emptied. 

Then, mercifully, nothing.

_________________________

The apartment was quiet after Moz left, the drama of his exit no longer echoing. Neal watched the sun fall behind that impossible skyline. It’s done, he made his choice. He was surprised at the lack of regret he felt. He’d been moving towards this decision almost since the beginning.

This felt right – Moz might say he was kidding himself that he’d fit into this life – but then Moz only knew the part of him that he had let show. He didn’t know about the rest – the selkie part. The part that terrified him. The part that needed more than a life of solitary splendor, the part that needed love.

 _What will Peter say when I tell him … will he think I’m crazy?_ Neal flicked a fingernail against the oversized hourglass Moz left behind. A few stray grains dropped to the bottom. 

_Yeah, probably. But it doesn’t matter, as long as I can stay with him and El._

He thought about a long future – something he usually avoided. Peter and Elizabeth gently growing old, and he’d be there to watch over them, to take care of them. He’d never done that before. He never stayed with any humans long enough for them to realize that he didn’t age, that he was going to outlive them.

Neal drifted on the clouds of a dozen pleasing fantasies. He’d learn to enjoy basketball and football, maybe take up some innocuous hobby. Or paint murals on the ceiling of Peter and Elizabeth’s bedroom. Not Impressionist. Perhaps a Mannerist or Renaissance tromp l’oeil, though he suspected that Peter wouldn’t want naked _putti_ peering out of the clouds at him and El. If he was really good and really lucky, Peter would someday invite him to his Friday night poker game.

Neal didn’t let himself think about anything beyond friendship, not yet. Those were dreams he’d be willing to wait for. 

His cellphone buzzed, shattering his reverie. It was Diana, of all people. Something was wrong.

“Di?”

She didn’t even bother to say hello, she just kicked the universe out from under him. “Elizabeth’s been kidnapped, it looks like Matthew Keller took her.” 

Neal took the subway to Brooklyn, it was quicker. All along the way, whenever he had a signal, he kept dialing Mozzie’s cell phones, sending text messages – nothing specific – just to contact him urgently. He got to the house a few minutes before Peter arrived, the street filled with NYPD and FBI vehicles, officers blocking everyone’s access. He flashed his consultant’s badge and when he would have been denied entry, Hughes waved him in. The house was teaming with agents and ERT techs. Diana pushed him towards the wall with instructions not to touch anything.

Peter came home looking like he’d aged fifty years in the two hours since Neal had left the office. Diana tried to reassure him that El was still alive – or at least she was when Keller took her from the house. Clinton explained that there were watches at all the major transportation hubs. They’d find her.

Peter turned to him and there was such terrible rage in his eyes. Neal felt an echoing madness rise, and he more than half hoped that Peter would pull out his gun and shoot him. But Hughes stopped him, Rice drew him away to talk and Neal was left there. 

With nothing to do except watch the destruction of all his dreams.

__________________

In the time it took to get home, Peter bargained with the God he no longer believed in, made promises, and begged every saint he could remember that Keller’s last words, “You could use some alone time” was an empty taunt, that he hadn’t done the unthinkable, that he hadn’t taken Elizabeth, his wife.

But he knew better – he knew from the moment he touched the phone.

The team was waiting for him as he walked in the door. He heard Satchmo whimpering as they led him away. His eyes couldn’t focus on anything. Hughes was there, Diana and Jones too.

“Boss – neighbors saw a black van, Jersey plates. She was alive when they took her.” Diana’s tone was low, meant to be reassuring. Jones said something about shutting down the transportation hubs.

A bright splash of red caught his attention. His heart stopped. Blood was pooled against the kitchen cabinets, splashed across the new rug that had taken them forever to pick out. 

No, not blood. Tomato sauce. He shuddered in painful relief.

There were ERT techs poring all over his house, faces he didn’t know. He wanted them gone, he wanted Elizabeth back.

He turned around, Neal was there; Neal – the architect of this atrocity. Someone he could focus on. “He took my wife.” 

The words came from his viscera, some dark pit in his soul. He felt like he was watching himself as he reached under his jacket for his gun, ready to blow Neal’s brains out if he didn’t tell him where the treasure was. He had it half drawn before he felt someone’s – Hughes’ – hand on his arm. He let his old friend take his weapon without a word and draw him away from Neal before he could do something he’d later regret.

“Peter, you need to focus.”

He took a deep breath and nodded.

“You remember Agent Kimberly Rice?” Hughes gestured to the tall redhead standing in the background. She joined them.

Of course he did. “Peter, I am so sorry. We will get her back.”

He couldn’t say anything. 

“Is there someplace where we can talk?” 

Peter looked around – the house was swarming with agents and technicians, so was their small backyard. He shook his head, helpless. “There’s a guest room upstairs.” He wasn’t taking anyone into their bedroom. He made it two steps up when that tinny ringtone began to play again. The sound was coming from his pocket.

Rice held up a hand and carefully extracted the phone. She set it on a console and the techs quickly plugged it into the tracking system. They flipped it open and pressed a button to accept the incoming call.

“Hello, Agent Burke…and the rest of the FBI. How are you this fine evening?”

Peter swallowed and took a deep breath; he needed to keep his cool. He needed to follow the playbook. He needed to keep Elizabeth alive.

“Keller. Thank you for not insisting that I not contact the police.” Rice nodded. He was doing well.

“Peter, Peter, there’s no point in setting up obstacles, is there?”

“No …” Rice mouthed _Matthew_. He swallowed his gorge and continued. “No, Matthew, there isn’t.”

“Tell me, who have you got there? Neal, for certain. Your trusty sidekicks, Berrigan and Jones? The old man? You there, Agent Hughes? I just want to thank you – if you hadn’t insisted on having Peter and Neal check out my tips on Jason Lang, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

Peter hadn’t realized before this moment that his boss’ orders had led directly to his own kidnapping and Keller’s escape. And Elizabeth’s kidnapping. He’d deal with that later.

“Who else is there?”

No one answered him.

“Come on, there have got to be case agents from Kidnapping and Missing Persons. Maybe that rabid publicity seeker, Kimberly Rice? You there, sweetheart? I’m surprised they let you keep your badge after nearly letting Ryan Wilkes kill that little girl.”

There were puzzled looks from the agents in the room. Peter didn’t care how Keller knew about Rice and that operation. 

“Matthew, you’re smart, you’ve named every agent in the room.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’d like to speak to my wife, Elizabeth. May I, please.” 

“Very good, very, very good, Peter. You’re following that playbook exactly. Reward my intelligence, make me believe I’m in control. Keep me talking. You were top of your class at Quantico, right? I’m not surprised.”

Peter ignored the taunts. “Matthew, I would like to speak to Elizabeth.”

“Okay, since it doesn’t matter how long we’re on the phone, I’ll let you talk to your wife.”

There was a shuffling sound, a cry of pain and then – “Peter?”

“Elizabeth, hon. You okay?”

There was a pause, another cry of pain, and what sounded like Keller giving her instructions to tell him something.

“No, Peter, I’m not okay. I want to come home.”

“I want you home too.”

“He hurt me, Peter.” 

His blood froze. “What did he do to you?”

“He hit me, he broke my wrist. He tasered me.” An endless pause. “I wet myself.” That last was whispered in shame.

Keller took over the call. “Yeah, Mrs. Burke here doesn’t smell so fresh right now. At least it will keep the boys off her for the moment. But my patience isn’t endless. You have twenty-four hours.” The line went dead.

No one said anything for the moment, the room then exploded in sound. His eyes met Neal’s for a moment. There was an almost shockingly feral look there, it mirrored his feelings exactly. Hughes and Rice stepped between them and pulled him into a corner of his living room.

Hughes spoke first. “Peter, you need to focus. You need to just keep thinking Elizabeth’s safe.” 

He took a deep breath and tried not to keep hearing Elizabeth’s cries of pain, her shamed confession.

Hughes then asked the questions he’d been dreading. “Why is Keller doing this? What does he want?”

Rice, too. “Peter, he made no demands. He’s already told you what he wants, hasn’t he?”

“I can’t – I can’t tell you.” When Hughes would have pressed, Peter just walked away. He looked for Neal again. He hadn’t moved from the fireplace. But his eyes were blazing and his face was ice pale. Peter shook off the pair of agents and went for Neal, grabbing him by the arm. He pulled him out of the house and down the stairs. The street was lit up like Times Square, FBI agents up and down the block. They walked almost to the corner before Peter turned on him. The words just spewed out.

“Keller says you have the treasure. He says he’s seen it. He wants it in exchange for Elizabeth.”

Neal didn’t hesitate to reply. No lies, no misdirection anymore. “Moz has it; he took it and rigged the warehouse to explode. I only found out after you forced me … after I took the polygraph. He’s wanted to leave, I’ve been stalling. But I told him tonight that I wasn’t going to go with him, he could leave without me. I wanted to stay. I want to stay.”

The only sound in his head was the beating of his heart.

Neal shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been trying to reach Moz since the call came that Keller took Elizabeth.”

“He’s not answering?”

“I’ve used every cell phone number I have for him, he won’t respond.” Neal looked up and then back at Peter. “We only parted a few hours ago – not enough time for him to move the treasure. Everything is at a warehouse in the Meatpacking District. 77850 Ganesvoort. Unit A. Tell Rice to get a team and a trailer down there, so you’ll be ready when Keller calls back to make the exchange.”

Peter was astonished. “You’re burning Moz – you’re ratting him out?”

Neal took a shuddering breath. “None of this would have happened if Moz hadn’t stolen the treasure. None of it. Elizabeth would be home, safe. And yes – if I had turned it in when I found out, none of this would ever have happened either. It’s both our faults.”

As he stood there with Neal in the warm summer evening, police car lights flickering, the crackling of radio static a counterpoint to the cicadas, Peter felt some of the desperate anger that he felt for Neal drain out of him. It had to. He needed Neal at this moment. “I can’t send anyone for the treasure, I can’t get a warrant.”

“What about an anonymous tip?”

“No, that won’t work either. The minute the FBI raids that storeroom, that treasure goes out of my control. I can’t use it. And the FBI – the U.S. Government won’t allow it to be used as ransom. You need to get to Mozzie, you need to convince him that it’s Elizabeth’s life on the line,that we need his cooperation.”

“We?”

Peter tried to balance the calculus of his feelings, simmering undercurrents of rage, the need for action and every possible future. “Yes, _we_.” The cicadas still buzzed and a dog barked somewhere off in the distance. 

“Boss?” Diana was walking towards them. “Agent Rice needs you to come back in.”

Peter nodded and gave Neal a swift, speaking look. “Can you take Neal home? I don’t want him here. I can’t bear to look at him.” He made sure his voice was carrying.

“She wants to talk to Neal too.”

“What for?”

“She wants to pick his brain about Keller – his methods, his motivations.”

Peter froze. Of course she would – be he needed to get Neal out of here, so he could reach Moz. “No, not in my house. I don’t want this son of a bitch across my threshold.”

“Peter, please. You’re being unreasonable. She needs to talk to him.”

“Then have her drive Neal home – they can talk on the way.”

Diana looked from him to Neal, and but it wasn’t clear she understood what was going on. At this point, she didn’t have to. “Okay. Neal, wait here.”

Peter looked at him again, nodded very slightly and followed Diana back into his home.

__________________

When the cell phone rang and Keller’s voice echoed around the room, Neal’s rage grew out of control. Listening to Elizabeth, her pain, her fear and her shame unlocked something monstrous in him, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Not even when he confronted Fowler did this wild _otherness_ take hold.

He needed to take action – to find Moz, to deliver the treasure to Peter, to bring Elizabeth home safely. 

As Peter pulled him out of the house, he was prepared for the other man’s violence, he would have welcomed it. He almost wanted it. But Peter didn’t so much as clench a fist and when he told him that Keller said he saw the treasure, everything just spilled out. Once, he might have protected Moz and taken the blame, but there was no leeway for game playing now. Not with Elizabeth’s life at stake.

At first, he didn’t understand why Peter was being so reasonable, so rationale, then it became clear. He needed him to do what he couldn’t. When El was home, when she was safe, then they’d deal with this last and final betrayal. If he survived.

Neal buried his rage, he had to – for the moment. He listened to Peter explain why he needed him to get to Moz and get the treasure. But when he used the word “we” – the emphasis pregnant with meaning – Neal wanted to fall to his knees and weep. Here on a street filled with strangers, lights flashing, radios crackling, the stars all but drowned, Peter was giving him something to hold on to. 

He understood the exchange between Peter and Diana. And although he didn’t relish a car ride with Agent Rice, he’d give her what she needed to help bring Elizabeth back.

She came outside a few minutes after Peter and Diana went back in.

“Caffrey.”

“Agent Rice.” Their greeting was perfunctory.

She didn’t comment on Peter’s refusal to allow him back in his house. “Come on, I’ll drive you home, and you can tell me everything you know about Matthew Keller.”

Neal didn’t hold much back – not with so much at risk. “Keller is highly intelligent, a master planner and utterly ruthless.”

“Sounds like Ryan Wilkes.”

Neal grimaced at the comparison. “No, Wilkes is a schoolyard bully with impulse control problems compared to Keller. Keller plans his moves so far in advance that it can be impossible to see how he’s coming at you. False trails, red herrings, misdirection. He’s a chess player – a grand master. And as patient as a lion on the hunt.”

“And yet, according to his file, you two were backgammon partners.”

“Never partners – and backgammon is not a game which has partners. We played against each other.”

“Does he cheat?”

Neal shook his head. “No, he doesn’t have to. And cheating would offend his ego. Keller is all about the game, he wants to win every encounter and he’ll set up all the rules, but he doesn’t cheat once the game is in play.”

“Is he a sociopath?”

“That’s a laden term.”

Rice braked at the light and looked at him. “You’re not comfortable answering that question.”

“I’m not a psychologist – I don’t have the qualifications to make such a judgment call.”

“Stop deflecting, Caffrey.”

“If you go by the traditional definition of a sociopath, or psychopath – which I think is the more accepted term these days…”

“I thought you said you weren’t a psychologist?”

Neal shrugged. “I read. And do you want my opinion or not?”

“Sorry, go on.”

“Matthew Keller doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He has no interest in anyone else’s feelings and I don’t think he even can understand them.”

Rice nodded. “Classic lack of capacity for empathy.”

“He’s also a sadist.” Neal ran his hand across his face. The thought of Elizabeth in his hands, the sound of her cries of pain was making him crazy. He felt himself losing control again, and he must have made a sound.

“Neal, are you okay?”

“No, I am not. My best friend’s wife is in the hands of that monster.” He paused, gathering the tattered shreds of his control. “Sorry.”

Rice was surprisingly compassionate. “It’s all right. You and Agent Burke are very close – but he seemed angry at you. He didn’t want you in his house tonight. Why?”

 _Dangerous ground_. “Keller and I go back a long time – we’ve been playing this game for years. Agent Burke – Peter, he blames me for getting him involved.”

“Matthew Keller arranged to have Peter kidnapped last year. Was he angry at you for that, too?”

Rice’s questions were eating away as his control. “Look – the man’s wife – the person he loves most in the world, someone who should never have been part of this – was taken. He has every right to be angry at me.” The fury was like a fire in his lungs.

They crossed the bridge into Manhattan. “You still at that same ritzy place on the Upper West Side?”

“Yeah.”

She peppered him with questions as she wove through the mid-evening traffic. Neal fed her all the information he could, but he was waiting for the one question he couldn’t answer. Rice finally asked, as she pulled up in front of June’s mansion. “What does Keller want? Peter knows, but he won’t say.”

Neal looked out the window and up at his apartment. It was dark. He had hoped, against all hope, that Moz would be there, waiting for him.

“Neal?”

He unbuckled and opened the door, ignoring her question. Then stopped. “Keller wants my skin.” _That was the truth._

“You, in exchange for Elizabeth Burke?”

Neal got out of the car, and before he shut the door, he gave her one last piece of information. “When you go back, tell Peter that I’ll do whatever needs to be done to get Elizabeth home safely. There is nothing more important.”

__________________

Moz had crated and uncrated this stuff so many times, he could almost do it in his sleep, and the fumes from the spray paint he was using to cover up the swastikas was giving him a blinding headache, filter mask notwithstanding. But it was almost done for the very last time.

One of his cell phones went off again, it was Neal’s ringtone, Fly Me To The Moon. This was maybe the tenth time he called in the last few hours, and it was becoming impossible to ignore. He needed to put the phone on mute.

Then another phone buzzed and the syncopated beat of Henry Mancini filled the space. He always hated that one. Well, not hated. He loved _The Pink Panther_ but it never quite worked as a ringtone, it was too slow and delicate for this purpose.

The backup-backup phone, the one he kept in the bottom of his messenger bag – the one that Neal never used – began to play the theme from Dragnet. If Neal was using that phone, then it had to be more than him calling to apologize. 

Maybe Neal was calling to tell him he changed his mind.

Moz scrambled over the crates and dove for the bag. He didn’t get to it in time. There were three missed calls – all from Neal – on the display. He pressed the redial button and breathlessly waited for the call to go through.

“Moz?”

“Neal –“ He tried to play it casual. “I see you’ve been trying to reach me.”

“Yeah.”

Fuck casual. “Dare I hope, to tell me you’ve changed your mind?”

There was a pause, all too pregnant. “Yeah, Moz. I’ve changed my mind. I … want to leave. I want to come with you.”

He sent up a prayer of thanks. “When can you meet me? I’m just about ready to get the truck to the dock. The _S.S. Masquerade_ leaves at dawn.”

“I can’t go anywhere with the tracker on. I don’t have the tools here to cut it off.”

 _Damn._ “Okay – I’m going to need to get some things from Sunday. Some Kevlar tape to protect your leg, a titanium blade for my high speed rotary cutter. My high speed rotary cutter.”

“How soon can you get here?”

Moz couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Give me an hour?”

“That long?”

“Afraid you’ll change your mind again?”

Again with the pregnant pause. “Yeah. Hurry.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can – forty-five minutes tops.” He considered a few things. “You know – leaving a truck filled with several billion dollars in art just parked on Riverside Drive isn’t a good idea. I’ll take it to Sunday and leave it there. I’ll drive the Citroen over and we’ll go back for the truck after I cut you loose from your government-imposed shackle.”

“You sure, Moz? It’s pretty safe in this neighborhood.”

“I’d rather not risk it. Keller’s still out there. He could be watching either of us, waiting just for this moment to pounce.”

“Right. Of course. I should have thought of that.”

“And don’t worry about anyone snatching it from the safe house; I’m the only one who knows where Sunday is.”

“Moz, you’re a paranoid genius. Now hurry.” 

Neal disconnected and Moz stared at the phone, grinning like a fool. He did a little jig as he finished packing. The last of the artwork, and then the gold bars, and he was ready to go. He screwed down the lid of the final crate. That was the last of it. Even the cameras had been dismantled and stowed away. He loaded everything (with no small effort) onto the truck, wrestled it in place and closed it up.

Circling the now empty room, he sprayed down the walls with a bleach solution, and like a Parisian shopkeeper, he swept the floor towards the door, brushing the bits of dirt and dust into the street. He gave a happy little skip and turned off the lights for the last time.

__________________

Neal let the rage wash over him. He’d kept this at bay for so long, centuries of wearing the perfect, civilized mask. The man who hated violence, who held those who used it in such contempt was just a well-worn veneer for the creature he really was.

This rage, it was useful. The last time he let go like this, someone died. Badly.

Not that the Earl of Westen didn’t deserve it.

Neal went to his closet, in a cabinet hidden behind the row of fine suits – the armor of the civilized gentleman – were his weapons of choice. He took them out and checked the sharpness; the edges needed some work. 

At the dining table, he carefully honed the Damascus steel against a whetstone. The moiré patterns, lightly coated with oil, moving always in the same direction, were hypnotic, but the steady, repetitive motion did not soothe him.

He sharpened each of the short blades, testing them with a hair. The long blade – almost a short sword – required a bit more effort, but his anger gave him purpose, and from purpose, a patience that shouldn’t have been possible. He finished and put the sharpening tools away. The blades, Neal left out, an arsenal waiting for deadly usage.

There was a brief staccato knock on his door. Neal smiled and looked up, catching his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. His eyes were glowing, they were the color of the North Sea at dawn.

He got up and turned to the door. “Come in, Moz.”

“The ten p.m. flight to paradise is now boarding, tickets please!” Moz burst in, all good cheer and smiles. “This is a day I’ve been waiting for far too long. I’m here to free you from your slavery – just call me Moses.”

Neal moved, his speed a gift rarely used and he picked Moz up by the neck, pressing him against the door. The tools he was carrying fell to the floor in a clatter. Moz hung there from Neal’s hand, feet dangling and instinctively kicking out.

“Neal, Neal – what the hell are you doing?”

He leaned in, pressing hard again Moz. It felt so damn good – to just let _go_. “He took her. He took Elizabeth.”

Moz clawed at his hand, but his efforts to free himself were ineffective. “What do you mean?”

“Keller took Elizabeth.”

Moz stopped struggling. “What?” 

“He kidnapped Elizabeth.”

“Let me down. Let me down.”

Neal released him and took one step back, prepared for any sudden move, any attempt to escape.

“Where’s Sunday, Moz? Where is the treasure?

Moz didn’t answer; he paced the room and muttered to himself. “Let me think, let me think.”

“We’re giving him the treasure. In exchange for Elizabeth.”

Moz looked up, appalled. “And you really think that Keller will let Elizabeth live even if we do turn it over to him?”

The words magnified Neal’s rage. “What do you mean, _if_ we turn it over?”

Moz licked his lips. “She’s probably dead already. Giving him the treasure won’t get her back.”

Neal rushed him again – moving faster than the human eye could track – this time slamming Moz flat onto the dining table. The knives clattered. “She’s alive, you son of a bitch. He hurt her. He hit her. He broke her wrist.” Neal picked up one of the blades and held it to Moz’s throat. “He _tased_ Elizabeth.” He pressed the tip of the knife under Moz’s jaw. “I may not be a gun guy, but I really like knives and I enjoy using them. Now tell me, where is Sunday? Where is the treasure?”


	4. Chapter 4

When Kimberly Rice returned to the Burke house, a report came through that an abandoned black van with Jersey plates had been found near the Kosciuszko Bridge. Luminol tests in the van’s holding area revealed a large stain, and human noses confirmed it was urine. The lab was expediting the blood typing and DNA results. 

Assumptions in this business could result in dead hostages, something she’d learned the hard way, but it was hard not to draw the conclusion that Elizabeth Burke was taken from her home in that van.

The ERT teams were taking the vehicle apart, trying to find any evidence inadvertently left behind, but if what Neal had told him about Keller was accurate – and she had no reason to think it wasn’t – the van would be completely clean except for the evidence Keller wanted them to find.

The techs had even less luck tracking Keller’s phone call. He had used an IP-based system that was bouncing off servers in dozens of cities and countries, switching every few seconds. 

They were prepared to trace the call next time he called. If he called again.

She suspected that Keller would secretly make contact with Peter, or more likely Neal, and she didn’t buy Neal’s statement that Peter wanted him gone because he was angry at him, because his prior dealings had brought Keller into their orbit. There was something else at play here. 

Kimberly conferred with her team for a few moments and went over to Peter. He was sitting alone in his living room, his still-groggy dog at his feet and she joined him on the couch.

“How are you doing?” It was a dumb question, but she needed to get him to open up to her.

“How do you think?” Peter snapped at her.

“I’m sorry. You know we’re doing everything possible, but these situations are so often waiting games.” She winced again, _these situations_.

“I know that.” He swallowed, his distress terribly visible. 

“Can you answer a question for me?”

“I’ll try.”

“You know what Matthew Keller wants?”

He nodded. 

“Can you tell me?”

“No.”

“Peter, if you keep secrets from us, you hamstring our ability to rescue Elizabeth.”

He said nothing.

“I asked Neal the same question.”

“He didn’t answer you either.” 

“Actually, he did.”

Peter looked at her and the shock there was surprising. “What did he tell you?”

“He said that Keller wanted _him_. Actually, what he said was ‘Keller wants my skin.’ Why wouldn’t he have just taken Neal in the first place? Why this elaborate game with your wife?”

“I don’t know.”

Peter was lying, but there was nothing she could do about it. “If you think of anything …”

“I know the routine, Agent Rice.”

“I know you do, Peter. We’ll get her back.”

He looked at her and he clearly didn’t believe that. But there wasn’t quite the hopelessness she was accustomed to seeing from the family members of kidnap victims. He had something in play and wasn’t going to tell her.

__________________

 _Keller wants my skin._

Peter didn’t even try to convince himself that Neal was speaking colloquially. Somehow, Keller knew exactly what Neal was. It wasn’t hard to imagine that he must have told Keller at some point in their past and he buried the slight hurt that Neal still hadn’t told _him_. They’d deal with that later, with everything else that he’d have to deal with.

_It isn’t as if you haven’t kept things – big things – from Neal either._

He had to get out of this room. He had to do something. Anything. Just sitting here, watching the agents from Kidnapping and Missing Persons working with his team, the ERT and communications techs setting up taps and traces and intercepts on his phones was driving him crazy. As if Keller would actually call his house or any of his cell phones. 

He needed a few moments alone – a short while of time when he didn’t have to see strangers invading the sanctity of his home. 

He went up to their bedroom. The techs had swept it and left it alone. He closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed. The scent of Elizabeth: her shampoo, her sweet perfume surrounded him. He wanted to bury his face in her pillow, to let her essence sweep over him, to make him forget. 

But he couldn't, not yet. He couldn't afford to break down, he didn’t know if he would be able to recover in time, if at all. He was going to have to get Neal’s skin out of the gun safe and get over to him without running into any interference from the agents downstairs.

And then what? Give Neal his skin and turn them over to Keller? Absolutely not. Give Neal his skin and tell him to run? No, that wasn’t an acceptable alternative either. But whatever happened next, Neal needed to make the choice – to stay and help or to go and save his own life. The deep part of him that had trusted Neal from that very first moment told him that Neal would do whatever it took to bring Elizabeth home safely. Maybe it was time to listen to that voice.

A soft electronic ping of incoming email distracted him. Elizabeth’s phone was plugged into the night table charger. Peter picked it up, caressing the sleek plastic case, hoping to pick up some image of Elizabeth – something of her smile, her joy, her love. Just something to give him hope.

He got nothing. 

Peter sighed and put the phone down. He needed to go back downstairs and get Diana and Clinton to give him cover, to help him escape his own home. 

The phone rang, the sound shockingly loud in the quiet bedroom. He looked at it, the caller ID showing “Peter Burke.” He answered without a second thought.

“Hello?”

“Agent Burke, good of you to take my call.”

“Keller.”

A pause. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Your wife wants to talk to you, but we’re gonna keep this brief. Make every word count.”

Peter closed his eyes, not questioning this gift or the cost.

“Hon?”

“Peter? You there?” Her voice was slurred.

“I’m here – I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

“I want to come home.” He could hear her tears.

“Soon, honey. You’ll be home and safe soon.”

Elizabeth made a small sound of distress and then Keller was back on the line.

“You know, the FBI is very sloppy.”

“What are you talking about, Keller?”

“Your guys did a lousy job cleaning up after that warehouse went boom. Papers went flying all over the place. I found something very interesting.”

“Pages from the manifest.” That’s how he knew about the treasure. And the skin. Neal’s skin.

“Very smart, Agent Burke – you have some of them too?”

“What’s your point, Keller. You already made your demands.” 

“Let’s just say that you’ve got three tasks to complete before you get the lovely Elizabeth back. The first is to deliver the loot.”

“I’m working on that.”

“I imagine you are.”

“What’s the second?”

“I’ve sent you an email – or rather, I sent an email to your wife’s email address. It’s a photo of a manifest page. There’s something on there that may have gotten separated from the rest of the treasure.”

Peter suddenly hoped he was wrong about Keller wanting the skin. “Degas’ _Entrance of the Masked Dancers_?”

“Good try – but not quite. Take a look at the email, Burke.”

“And the third part?”

“I want Neal, too.”

“What?”

“Neal Caffrey is part of your wife’s ransom and like everything else, that’s not negotiable.”

 _No._ “Why do you want Neal?”

“Do you really care, Agent Burke? After all he’s done to you? If it wasn’t for Neal, your wife would be home, safe and sound. Your career wouldn’t be on the rocks. Life with the Burkes would be just fine.”

Peter was gripping the phone so hard that his hand began to ache. Instinct made him want to deny, training said not to argue. He sidestepped the issue.

“When do you want to make the exchange?”

“Don’t be in such a rush, Burkey. You’re going to need all the time I’m giving you. You’ve still got eighteen hours to go. And remember, no Neal, no Elizabeth.” The phone went dead.

Peter opened the email Keller sent. There was a photograph, and while it was hard to see details on the phone’s small screen, it was definitely another page from the U-boat manifest. He didn’t spare a moment’s thought to wonder how ERT missed this and how Keller got hold of it. He shut off the phone and pocketed it.

El’s laptop was on the bedside table too – and he was never so glad that he had lost the argument about no computers in the bedroom. He logged into her email and opened the file. The image was fully legible now, and this part of the list had several sections. Keller had thoughtfully highlighted _magische Gegenstände_. There were three items in that portion, and just one that was marked with a star:

_Tierhaut (spätes 18. Jahrhundert, verzeichnet als Geschenk aus England an Kaiserin Katharina), höchstwahrscheinlich Robbe nordatlantischer Herkunft, untot, Alter unbent._

Peter’s German was worse than his French and he was about to call up a translation site, but Keller thoughtfully removed that obstacle and had provided the English translation.

_Animal skin (late 18th century, noted as a gift from England to Empress Catherine), most likely seal, North Atlantic variety, undead, age unknown._

It was as Peter had feared.

Keller wanted Neal’s skin. Keller was asking for the unthinkable.

_________________________

The incessant clack-clack-clack of the butterfly knife as it opened and closed in Matthew Keller’s right hand was slowly driving her mad. Elizabeth feared she would hear that sound every time she closed her eyes for the rest of her life.

However long that would be.

She struggled to remember what Peter had told her about kidnap victims and successful recoveries. She tried not to think about Stockholm Syndrome and identifying with her captor. She tried counting backwards from a random number by seven and calculating the cost of a wedding for five hundred at the Waldorf. 

But nothing helped. 

Her wrist, now swollen, made almost any movement torture. Her jaw and cheek, where he backhanded her, were swollen too, and the lingering physical pain from the electroshock weapon continued to radiate through her torso.

But she tried, she needed to take some care of herself, to help herself and be able to help Peter in any way possible. Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to block out the sound of the knife, to get some sense of her location, the time of day.

There were vague traffic sounds, not heavy enough for the urban areas of the city or outer boroughs, even at night. But she kept hearing boats and the slap of waves. But that wasn’t a help, she could be anywhere.

The clacking stopped, the door opened and shut. 

“Hungry, Mrs. Burke?”

She opened her eyes and looked at her captor. “No, not really.”

Keller set a container of Chinese food in front of her. The smell made her ill and she instinctively waved it off. The movement of her arm shifted the broken bones and the sudden escalation in pain made her retch. Keller yanked the food away.

“I guess not.”

Elizabeth could feel his eyes on her. “What is it?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like the late, lamented Kate Moreau?”

“What do you mean?”

“Kate – Neal’s lost love. The two of you share quite a few features.”

Elizabeth tried to keep very still, hoping it would stop the nausea. “No, Peter never mentioned that.”

“She had long dark hair and big blue eyes – just like you. And a cute button nose.”

_So what?_

“Her tits were better, though.” Keller gave a nasty laugh. “Younger, firmer.” He shoved some of the food in his mouth and chewed noisily. “Her nipples were pink. I liked that.”

“You slept with Neal’s girlfriend?”

“Well, sweetheart, I wouldn’t really call what we did ‘sleeping.’ If you catch my drift.” Keller gave her a lascivious grin, which turned speculative. “What color are **your** nipples, Mrs. Burke?”

Elizabeth froze. This was what she feared, the escalating violation of her body and her mind. But she had learned the hard way not to challenge him. “Brown.” She hoped that satisfied Keller.

“I must say, your husband does have a type.”

This time, Elizabeth refused to rise to the bait.

“You, Kate Moreau, Neal Caffrey. Quite a little harem of blue-eyed brunettes.”

She all but bit her tongue to keep from answering.

Keller’s laugh was nasty. “Oh, I know all about Peter meeting with Kate in that hotel room. She told me he liked it rough. Tell me, Mrs. Burke – do you like it when your husband messes you up a little or are you the type who doesn’t like it back there?” 

Elizabeth tried not to listen; she tried to concentrate on the pain in her wrist, breaking it down into components: the ache, the throbbing, the sharp burning. Keller’s voice faded into the background, it was a relief. 

Until he slapped her. “You’re not listening to me.”

She moaned and tried not to cry, but didn’t pull her head away when he grabbed her chin. 

“Don’t you want to know all about me and Kate Moreau?” 

“You’re going to tell me whether I want to hear or not, right?”

Keller seemed taken aback by her question, but he didn’t get angry. Instead, he let go and his face took on a bemused look, then something akin to approval.

Swallowing, Elizabeth asked, “So, what about you and Neal and Kate?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

She shrugged, ignoring the pain that the motion caused. Anything to keep Keller from focusing on her.

“Neal and I were partners, you know. Oh, he’ll deny it. He never really considered me his equal. In his class.” 

“Neal doesn’t like violence.”

“That’s what you’d like to believe. The man you call Neal Caffrey is quite capable of a lot of things, and violence is one of them. Take my word for it.”

“You said you were partners …” Elizabeth hoped to get Keller back on track.

“Yeah, partners. I’m sure he’s told you about Monaco and the backgammon tournament.”

“He mentioned it.” Elizabeth kept playing along. Peter was the one who had shared that detail.

“We did well, we both finished in the money. But it wasn’t enough, and there was just so much in Monaco, just ready for the taking. Neal and I did a few jobs together, some went better than others.” Keller paused, apparently lost in nostalgia. “But Neal, he got tired of Europe. He got tired of me fucking him through the mattress night after night.

Elizabeth couldn’t keep from gasping. She never expected this.

“Yeah, darling. Neal Caffrey offered it up so sweetly. Even when I dry-fucked him, even when I made him bleed, made him cry like a little girl. Maybe that’s why he did so well in prison.”

“You’re disgusting.” She couldn’t stop herself this time and waited for the pain. But Keller only laughed.

“Finally, finally got a reaction. You are good, Mrs. Burke. Pity I can’t take you with me. You’re very good.”

“Tell me about Kate – this has nothing to do with that.” 

He laughed again. “The lovely Kate Moreau. She wasn’t as sweet and innocent as Neal would have you believe. She was a needy little bitch, greedy and always hungry for more. Oh, she’d show up every week at that prison and blink those big, blue eyes at Neal and make him believe he was the only one for her. But he wasn’t. She was getting it everywhere she could – from that idiot Garrett Fowler. From Adler whenever he’d pop into New York.”

“And you?”

“Yeah, me most of all.” Keller laughed. “That girl had some staying power in the sack, and she liked it messy and painful. Neal treated her like a queen, but she loved rolling in the dirt.”

“You seem more interested in bragging about your sexual prowess – I still want to know how you and Kate met.”

Keller gave her a sour smile. “I was annoyed when Neal left. I wasn’t done with him. Besides, Monaco was beginning to lose its charm.”

“You mean the police were looking for you.”

“Do you want to tell this story?”

She ducked her head. “No, sorry.”

“Anyway, I decided to look dear, old Neal up here in the greatest city in the world. It is, you know. You can do anything here.” Keller paused. “I found them – Neal and Kate. Such a beautiful couple, almost a matched set. It took me less than three weeks to corrupt her, just half the time it took for me to get Neal to let me fuck him. And he never knew what I was doing with her. Neal went back to Europe and she came right back to my bed.” Keller looked at her. “You don’t believe me.” 

“Does it matter if I do?”

“In the end, not at all.”

Keller left her; the sound of the locks engaging was oddly reassuring.

__________________

There were still a dozen agents milling around his living room, almost all were from Rice’s team. Hughes had left to brief the higher ups. Jones saw him coming down the stairs and met him at the landing.

“Clinton, can you and Diana get everyone out of here. This isn’t the local Starbucks.”

“Peter?” 

“Do it, please.” There was desperation in each syllable. Jones nodded and began the process. 

“Boss?” Diana stayed close. “What else do you need?”

“I have to get downstairs, to the basement. Then leave. You need to come with me. You and Clinton both.”

“You’re going to go look for Keller?”

He shook his head minutely, too aware that Rice was looking at him now. “No, I need to get over to Neal’s place.”

“But you just threw him out …”

“That was necessary too. I can’t explain right now. Just get Rice and her team out of here.”

Diana joined Clinton, and he watched as Rice started giving them an argument, then stalked over to him.

“Peter, I know this is difficult, but you have to let us do our jobs.”

“You can work in the command post you’ve set up outside. You don’t need to be in my house now. There is nothing you can do here that you can’t do from the mobile units out front.” Satchmo came over and sat down on top of his feet, disturbed at El’s absence and needing to be as close to him as possible. He stroked the dog’s head.

“You’re throwing us out? With your wife’s life on the line?”

“Like I said – there is no reason for you to sit here and take up space and making yourself comfortable. Do your job where you have the best access to technology, where your team can initiate the quickest response times.”

“Peter, this is not wise. It goes against all protocol.”

Peter didn’t reply and Rice really had no choice. It took all of five minutes for the Kidnapping and Missing Persons team to shift themselves and their equipment into the mobile units outside. 

Once the house was cleared, he told Jones to take his car to the block directly behind the house; he and Diana would meet him there.

“What are we doing?” Diana went with Peter into the basement and over to a back, dimly lit corner. 

“I need to get something, just … just wait here.”

Next to a workbench was the large gun safe where he kept Neal’s skin. El had wanted to put it in the Centurion that he installed upstairs, but it wasn’t big enough and he wasn’t quite ready to keep this much of Neal in his bedroom.

He hoped the safe’s open door blocked Diana’s view of the contents, and as the meager light hit the inside, the skin – its head, whiskers quivering – peeked over the lid of the box. Peter carefully stroked it with one finger, and whispered, “Your journey’s almost over.” A thread of happiness wound through him, cascading images of liquid darkness, the rush of the tide as he dove through the waves, the joy of returning home after centuries of exile.

Peter almost closed the safe, almost left the skin behind. 

He pushed the skin down into the box and tucked the lid closed. He took his spare Glock, loaded it, and shoved it in his waistband at the small of his back. He pocketed several full cartridges, just in case.

“What’s that?” Diana looked at the box he was carrying. 

“Something I need to bring to Neal.” 

She gave him a look, and he hated keeping her in the dark. But there was no way he could explain anything. Diana, however, was wise enough not to press. She followed him outside and through the yard to the old access path that separated the DeKalb Avenue properties from the ones facing the other block. Clinton was waiting for them at the corner with his car. They’d leave the Taurus behind; taking it would send up an immediate flare to the FBI that he’d gone rogue.

“Where to, Peter?”

“Neal’s.” There was nothing more to say.

* * *

Neal had tied him to the top of the dining table. The giant hour glass had been pushed to the floor, now nothing more than a pile of sand and shattered glass. 

Moz tried not to think about all the hours he had spent sitting at this table. All the good times – getting drunk with Peter that night, laughing at Neal. The not so good times too, working with Neal to decode Kate’s message on the bottle, working with Neal to find Kate’s killer. Building that fractal antenna, planning their escape with the loot. 

He whimpered, the sound thick and painful. 

Neal tapped the side of his face with the blade of a very sharp knife. The same one he used to cut a hair-thin line from his ear to his lips. He could feel the tiny droplets of blood mixing with his sweat as they rolled down his neck.

“Remember when I told you what I was?”

Moz nodded. “Yes, yes.” 

“And I said that I read what the Earl of Westen did with my skin in his diary?”

Moz nodded again. He didn’t understand where Neal was going with these questions, but he was too terrified to ask.

“I lied.”

“He didn’t give the skin to Catherine the Great?” Maybe that thing he found wasn’t Neal’s. Maybe he didn’t betray him after all.

Neal tapped his face again. “No, he did.” Moz’s relief was short-lived. “I just didn’t read it in his diary.”

“Oh. Then how…” This was such a bizarre conversation to be having when Neal – the man who despised violence – was torturing him with a knife. And then he remembered, Neal really wasn’t a man. 

“Westen admitted to me what he did with Katherine – how he murdered her – right after I cut off his thumbs. He told me about his gift to the Empress just before I castrated him.” 

_This isn’t Neal – this isn’t Neal. This isn’t happening._

“Where is it, Moz?” He kneeled over him and all Moz could see was Neal’s icy blue eyes, glowing, feral, angry. All he could feel was the tip of that knife as it dug into his collar, cutting him. He could smell the blood now.

“Tell me where the treasure is, and this can all end now.”

Moz thought about his dreams of an island paradise, and then he thought about Elizabeth Burke, who’d never been anything but wonderful to him. He closed his eyes and saw the azaleas in bloom, he saw her broken. Why had he hesitated when Neal asked him where the treasure was? The treasure wouldn’t buy him his lost childhood, it wouldn’t give him a family, it wouldn’t make a life lived in shadows any brighter. Why was he hesitating now? Elizabeth Burke was his friend, alive or dead.

There was no choice.

“Sunday is a warehouse near the Hudson, at 117th Street and Broadway.”

But Neal didn’t step back, he didn’t release him.

“Where is my skin, Moz?” 

_No. This wasn’t happening._

“Where is it? Is it with the rest of the treasure, or have you squirreled it away?”

“I told you, it wasn’t there.”

“And you’re a terrible liar, Moz.” Neal dragged the knife down his throat, down his chest. He was very good and very careful, cutting just his shirt before flicking it open. Neal traced the scar from his bullet wound, the sharp point bringing up tiny beads of blood. “I could cut you open and watch your heart beat.”

“Neal…” He begged.

“Westen begged too. He begged for death.” Neal kept tracing that scar and the blood began to pool in the indentation. “Keller has other pages of the manifest. He told me that the skin was part of the cargo. He has no reason to lie.”

“Wait, wait…Keller wants your skin?” In his shock, Moz tried to get up. “Why?”

“He thinks it will make him immortal.”

“That’s … that’s crazy.” But no less crazy than lying on Neal’s dining table like a seal waiting to be flensed. _Bad analogy._

“Crazy or not, he wants it. And I don’t plan on letting Elizabeth die because I didn’t give it to him. Where is it?” 

The knife dug deeper and Moz screamed.

“Tell me what you did with it.” 

“I …”

“Tell me, Moz. Tell me.”

“I don’t have it.” The last came out as a shriek. Neal had shifted the knife, sliding it under a layer of skin, like he was about to fillet him. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to admit the final betrayal. “Please, Neal. Please.”

Neal pulled out the knife and stepped away from the table. He could feel the hot blood dripping down his chest.

“Why, Moz? Why would you betray me like this?” The words, spoken in a whisper, echoed through the room as if they were shouted. “You know what it meant – it means to me.”

“I didn’t want to lose you, Neal. You’re the only friend I have.” The words made him nauseous. They weren’t really friends. Not anymore.

__________________

The coppery-iron smell of blood and the acrid stink of fear coated the inside of his nose, the back of his throat. The part of Neal that had long ago accepted his humanity was sickened. The part that whispered to him of vast oceans and endless hunts in the deep, cold, darkness – relished this little man’s fear. It would get him what he needed.

“Neal, please.” The sound of his name, the desperate begging was beginning to undo him.

He clenched the knife in his hand, the rough shagreen that wrapped the hilt bit into his palm. It would be too easy to assuage his anger with blood. To do this meant there was no going back – but did it matter now? He was going to die anyway – he would give Keller his life for Elizabeth’s. A fair trade.

But to kill? 

A sharp knock on the door broke his reverie. Moz whimpered again. 

He stood there, torn and indecisive. _What else was new?_ He looked from the bloodstained man tied to the table to the door, once again unable to make a choice.

Another knock, accompanied by a voice, someone calling his name. _Peter_. The doorknob rattled, and Peter called his name again. He’d been here before, but without so much on the line.

“Neal, open the door. I need to talk to you.” The knocking was urgent. He looked at Moz again, wondering why he didn’t cry out for help.

Still clenching the knife, he went to the door and opened it. Peter’s eyes went wide; he supposed he presented quite a sight. 

“Neal?” Peter looked over his shoulder, into the apartment and gasped. He pushed him aside and rushed to the table. “What are you doing?”

Neal watched as Peter untied Moz and helped him sit up. The cuts weren’t really that deep. At least the ones on his skin. 

“He wasn’t going to tell me where he moved the treasure. I just did what needed to be done.”

Peter stepped back and looked at Moz in shattered disbelief. “You would have … you would have let Elizabeth die? After everything?”

Moz didn’t answer and the rage that had driven Neal to this point flared again. He took a step towards Moz, his hand white-knuckled and still clenching the knife, but Peter held him back. The touch calmed him.

“You have your answer, Peter. And I got mine. It’s in a warehouse not too far from here. What do you want to do with him?” Neal tilted his head in Moz’s direction; he was at the sink, trying to wash away the blood, trying to stop the bleeding. 

Peter pried the knife from his hand; he picked up the other blades and set them on the fireplace mantle. Neal went out to the terrace; he didn’t want to hear what Peter told Moz. The air was clean out here, the tubs of night-bloom jasmine gave off a gentle perfume that erased the stink of blood and fear. He watched through the doors as Peter and Moz seemed to argue. Moz pointed at him, and Peter, who shouldn’t have to deal with anything more than getting Elizabeth home safe – seemed determined to soothe the other man’s wounds.

He supposed that if he survived whatever Keller had planned, if he got Elizabeth back whole and safe and sane, he’d regret his work this night. Moz wasn’t the Earl of Westen, he wasn’t a brutal murderer of women, a man drunk on power. No, Moz had behaved like a selfish coward, greedy and needy and loyal to him for the wrong reasons. He’d owe him an apology, maybe.

The panes in the French doors rattled as Moz slammed out of the apartment. Neal hoped he wasn’t planning on going too far. He turned and looked down onto the street. The little red Citroen stayed put.

“I don’t know if I should be appalled at what you just did to Moz.” Peter joined him on the balcony.

“I told Rice that I’d do whatever needed to be done to get Elizabeth back.” He looked up at Peter. “Have you heard anything more?”

Peter nodded. “Keller called me – he let me talk to Elizabeth.”

Neal closed his eyes, grateful that she was still alive. “How is she?”

“In bad shape.”

Neal nodded. “Where do we make the exchange?”

“Keller didn’t say where, and he is insisting on waiting until tomorrow night.”

“He would.” The moon, a large golden plum, was not quite full.

“Neal…” Peter seemed hesitant. “Keller’s made some additional demands.”

A small, tight smile curve his lips. “Yeah, that was expected.”

“You know what he wants?”

“Yes. He wants me.”

“He said you were a non-negotiable part of the ransom. Neal, I’m sorry.”

“Peter, it’s all right. It’s a fair exchange. It’s all my fault anyway.”

“No, not all your fault.”

“Mostly – and it doesn’t really matter whose fault it is. My life for Elizabeth’s.”

“It’s not an exchange I am willing to make.”

“Don’t, Peter. Don’t argue with me about this.” There was so much he wanted to tell Peter. So much he couldn’t bear to leave unsaid. “Did he … did he ask for anything else?”

* * *

This was the moment he’d been dreading, the point where everything was going to come together or fall apart.

As much as he had been appalled at what Neal had done to Moz – and the cuts were very minor – he understood it. Hadn’t he been ready to shove his gun under Neal’s throat and threaten to blow his brains out if he didn’t tell him what he needed to know?

But he wasn’t prepared for this. And yet he had no choice.

“Keller demanded your skin.”

Neal didn’t move – he looked like some ancient marble statute, the flecks of blood across his face glowed in a bizarre pattern, like war paint. “Peter…” He turned to him, finally.

“I know what you are, Neal.”

“You can’t.” He shook his head and grimaced.

“I want to be angry with you – you told Keller, you told Moz. But you didn’t tell me.”

Neal stared at him, trembling. “You can’t know.”

“I do – I know just what you are.”

“Then what am I?” Neal’s whisper was pain-filled, harsh. Desperate beyond measure.

“A selkie.” There – it was out in the open. Blunt, truly honest for the first time.

“How – how could you possible know that?”

A small, hidden part of him was relieved that Neal didn’t try to deny it. He drew Neal back into the apartment, over to the couch. He didn’t look at the table, grisly with the remains of spilt wine and human fear, or at the kitchen where a blood-soaked rag was piled next to the sink.

Peter could feel Neal trembling as he sat him down on the couch. “Wait here.” He retrieved the box with Neal’s skin from the landing outside the door. As he set it down on the coffee table, he took a deep breath. He didn’t know what Neal’s reaction would be.

“Peter?” There was a strange thrum in Neal’s voice. He knew what was in the box – of course he did. This was the other part of him.

“We once sat here – another box, another time. We promised each other, ‘no more lies’. I don’t think either of us kept that promise.”

Neal’s shuddering breath echoed and the box shook. He put out a tentative hand, it hovered over the flaps.

“I’m going to miss it – it’s charming and full of mischief. Just like you.”

Neal didn’t seem to hear him; he was so intently focused on the box, which was now shaking itself off the table.

“Do you want me to open it?”

Neal shook his head. “No, I’m just, just …” There were tears cascading down his cheeks.

Despite everything, Peter felt himself getting caught up in this moment of pure happiness. He watched as Neal opened the box and the skin flowed into his arms like a child coming home after a day of play. It brushed its snout against Neal’s face and he laughed as the whiskers tickled him. It nuzzled at Neal’s cheeks, smearing the tears. Neal’s hold was at once delicate and iron-hard.

Peter didn’t understand the words Neal crooned; he supposed it was the language of his kind. The syllables were liquid, beautiful and frightening.

He turned back to him. “How did you get this?” 

“It arrived in the mail a few weeks ago. In that box.” He paused. “I’m pretty sure that Mozzie sent it.”

Neal sat down again. “He must have found it with the rest of the treasure. I asked him – but he said it wasn’t there. He lied. He lied to me.”

“I think he was afraid to lose you.” _Just like I am._

“I trusted him.”

“You did?” He couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“About this, yes. He knew what it meant to me.” 

Peter could tell the minute Neal realized just what Peter hadn’t told him. “How did you know it was mine, what I was? What I am?”

“Does it matter?”

“You just said, ‘no more lies.’ You knew – you’ve had this and you’ve known all along?”

“I’ve only known since I had it. I had no idea before.”

“Mozzie …” Neal shook his head. “If Moz told you everything, then why didn’t he tell me where it was? Why wouldn’t he?” 

Peter couldn’t quite look at him. He licked his lips. “Moz didn’t tell me – not really. He put a gaming card of all things in the box. It had a picture of a selkie on it, that’s it.”

“And just like that you deduced what I was. That I’m a selkie.” Neal laughed in disbelief. “I know that your gut – your famous, all knowing, all seeing gut is without peer, but you can’t expect me to believe that you figured it all out from a piece of mass-produced cardboard. That it was a simple case of two plus two equaling four.”

Peter felt as if he were standing on a precipice, one sharp gust of wind would blow him off the edge. “You’re not the only one with magic in this room.”

“What?”

“I have a gift – a small, very erratic talent.” He looked at Neal; he hoped that he wouldn’t have to explain further. Even under these circumstances, it seemed ridiculous when uttered aloud.

“What type of gift?” Neal’s tone was cautious, but given the rapid strokes of his hand across the ecstatically wriggling skin, he was anything but blasé.

“Technically, I think it’s called psychometry. I can touch objects, people, and then I see things, feel emotions. It’s inconsistent, but when it happens, the information is usually accurate. Sometimes I get a glimpse of the future; sometimes I can see the origin of something. It’s not like anything you’d read in a book. There are no rules to how it works or when it works.” 

Neal didn’t say anything. He just stared with wide, unblinking eyes.

Peter realized that he had to tell Neal the whole truth, everything. It was the only way they could go forward, if they could at all.

“This gift – talent – whatever you want to call it, it’s been useful over the years. It’s helped me close a lot of cases, but it’s never been a substitute for real evidence, real investigative work. But with you …”

“With me? You’re saying you caught me because of these psychic talents?” Neal was outraged by the idea.

“No, at least not the first time.”

“The second?” 

“Yeah. You practically laid a trail. It seems that my talent is amplified when it has anything to do with you” 

Neal blinked. “Umm, Peter … you can’t read my thoughts, can you?” 

Under other circumstances, he would have laughed at the horror in Neal’s question. “No, I can’t. And believe me; I am very glad about that.” 

“Thank god, thank god.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile a little at Neal’s relief.

“But it was how I knew you had the treasure.”

“What?”

“I picked up a scrap of burning canvas after the warehouse exploded. I saw you standing in the middle of a storeroom, surrounded by the treasure, smiling. I only saw it once – for a flash.”

“That hadn’t happened yet. I had no idea what you were talking about when you accused me.”

“I know – I know that now. And if I hadn’t accused you, maybe none of this would have happened.” That had to be the sick thought he’d been afraid to vocalize for months. “Maybe you would have come to me, instead of being angry.”

“Maybe. I was furious – and I did want to leave at first.”

“But you don’t now.” That wasn’t a question.

“I don’t think I ever did. That has been the problem and what precipitated this tragedy.”

Peter wasn’t sure of that, but this wasn’t the time to go into it.

And then Neal asked the question he’d been waiting for. “But that still doesn’t explain how you figured out I am a selkie, how this skin is mine.” Neal had stopped stroking the skin, which lifted its head. Peter wanted to smile; they both had matching expressions of curiosity. If only Elizabeth’s life didn’t hang in the balance. 

Peter reached out and brushed a finger across its nose. “It told me. As soon as I touched it, I saw everything.”

“Everything?” 

“The sea, your childhood. Your family.”

Neal blinked, and Peter forbore from mentioning that little lie about his father the dirty cop. The skin wound its way up to Neal’s chin and nuzzled him, giving whatever comfort it could.

“I also saw Katherine Armitage.” Peter didn’t know what else to say about her.

“You saw what her husband did to her?” If the grief he had seen in Neal’s eyes after Kate was murdered was terrible, it was nothing compared to this.

“And to you – I saw what he did to you. How did you survive that?”

Neal set the skin aside and got up, and in a fit of nervous energy started cleaning. Peter watched in incredulous silence as he swept up a mess of sand and glass, tossed away the ropes that he had used to bind Moz to the table and wiped everything down. Neal took the daggers and the short sword down from the mantle and set them on the coffee table, in a precise configuration.

“Neal?”

“I can’t be killed. Not in this form.”

The skin flopped about, clearly in distress. 

“I don’t grow old, I don’t die.”

* * *

There was little to say. Berrigan and Jones, the Suit’s right and left hands of darkness gaped at him. He supposed he looked like something out of one of those Japanese horror movies, dripping blood everywhere. 

It was a good thing June wasn’t home. That would be unbearable.

“Moz, what the hell happened to you?”

Berrigan – Diana – pushed him down on the couch. He just shook his head. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I think there is everything for us to worry about. Who did this to you?”

Moz couldn’t keep his eyes from flicking up the staircase.

“Neal?” That bit of incredulousness was from Jones. “Neal cut you up?”

“I don’t think I said anything of the sort, Junior G-Man.” He shook off Diana and made his way to the butler’s pantry off of one of the kitchens. June kept a first aid kit here. He ignored the two Suits who stood watching him as he swabbed and styptic’d and bandaged the various cuts that decorated his chest and face. 

The price of his sins. 

Moz supposed that he got off easy; Neal could have gone for a pound of flesh. Looking at himself in an old, time-stained mirror, he didn’t quite recognize himself. It wasn’t the thin line of scabs forming where Neal sliced his face; it was the distorted mask of greed that was unrecognizable. Since when was anything worth more than a human life? Especially the life of one so dear to him.

What made him hesitate for even a second? They should have been on their way to rescue Elizabeth, to put Keller down like the rabid dog he was before Neal’s words stopped echoing.

“Moz.”

“What?” He all but shouted. Berrigan’s careful tone was like another, sharper knife.

“Did Neal tell you?”

“About Elizabeth – yeah.” He met their eyes in the silvered glass. “I know what Keller wants.”

“Do you have it?” Jones’ voice was just as cautious.

“Yeah. It’s safe, it’s close by.” He could read the questions in Jones’ eyes and a sad satisfaction in Diana’s. “For the record – I was the one who took it. Neal had no idea. Not until later.”

The agents nodded and Moz pushed past them, back into the sitting room. He sat on June’s overstuffed couch, huddling in his cut open shirt, chilled to the bone despite the summer night’s warmth. Berrigan whispered something to her compatriot, who went outside. He came back in a few minutes, a mass of gray cotton knit in his hands.

“Here – it’s freshly washed. No Fed-cooties on it.” Jones gave him a small, tight smile.

He took what turned out to be a Harvard Law sweatshirt. “Thanks, I lost mine a few years ago.” Of course, the Young Suit’s was far too big, but it was warm and brought back some happier memories.

“Do you know what’s going on up there?”

Moz could only imagine. He had seen the familiar box sitting on the landing, and knew that there was no going back. “Yeah.”

“But you’re not going to tell us?”

“No. That’s for the Suit – Peter, to do. If he wants.”

“Moz?” That was Jones.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He shrugged.

“Last spring – when Neal was undercover with Lawrence – the plane you had ready…”

“Yeah – and no. I didn’t think twice about it.” _The way I shouldn’t have thought twice about it earlier tonight._

Jones nodded, a strangely appreciative expression on his face. Berrigan just stared at him, she was angry. “You shouldn’t have dragged Neal into this.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“You’re going to have to have it sometime, Moz. You’re going to have to explain everything.”

He refused to look at her. She wasn’t saying anything he didn’t know. The weight of his sins never felt heavier. It was really all his fault. No, not the theft from Adler’s warehouse – that was still one of the greatest accomplishments of his life. Nor was the delay in their departure – no matter what Keller said. It was the hit – that was wrong. He wasn’t a man who purchased his deaths. He should have taken Keller out himself, not let anyone else botch it up. 

That one stupid mistake was costing him everything. All that he held dear, and that didn’t include paintings and gold and _objets d’art_ stolen by the Nazis.

_________________________

“I get that you’re immortal. It shocks the hell out of me, but it makes sense.” Peter shook his head.

That surprised Neal. “How does my being immortal make any sort of sense?”

“Well, you have to admit that you have an array of talents that no one in their early thirties should have. How many languages _do_ you speak fluently, Neal?”

He flushed at the question. But he had one of his own. Stroking a hand across his skin, which was now alive in ways he never thought possible, Neal picked his words carefully. “When you realized it was mine, did you ever …” The words got stuck in his mouth. He swallowed and tried again. “Did you ever think about giving it back to me, before this?” 

Peter nodded and Neal felt a strange sort of relief. Despite his own betrayals, to know that Peter had planned on doing the right thing. But that was something as dependable as the tide.

“After your sentence was up, though.”

Neal couldn’t help himself, he started to laugh. The ridiculousness of that simple statement gave him a moment’s surcease from the rage and pain and fear.

But Peter’s next words sliced through him, laying everything bare again. “I can’t let you exchange yourself for Elizabeth.”

“You have no choice, Peter.” 

“Neal, it would violate everything I know, everything I believe in if I handed you over to Keller.”

“But Elizabeth…” Her name on his lips was like a cry of pain from a wounded animal.

“I know – and I know that whatever Keller wants from you, what he wants to do with that skin is not simply a reunion of old friends, the satisfaction of some vulgar curiosity. He wants to hurt you and I … I can’t allow that.”

“And I can’t allow him to hurt her anymore. He’s already done enough.”

“No, there is nothing to argue about.”

“Then why did you bring this to me?” The skin lifted its head and looked from him to Peter.

“I want you to run.”

“NO!” The denial exploded out of him in a breathless, impossible rush.

“Yes, Neal. You are going to go – you’re going to take that skin down to the river and leave.”

“I don’t run. Keller can’t hurt me. There’s nothing he can do that will cause me lasting harm.” His skin, suddenly restless, recognized the half-truth. “If I did something as cowardly as running, what were you going to tell Keller when you didn’t produce either me or the skin?”

“I would have told him you were gone – that I found Moz and the treasure, but you had taken your skin and disappeared, and he could have the treasure and he could try to find you.”

“You’d risk Elizabeth’s life like that? No. You wouldn’t.” 

“Neal, damn it – what choice do I have? Am I supposed to tie you up in the back of the truck, put your skin in a shiny gift bag and wait for him to deliver my wife?”

“Yes, you’re supposed to do exactly that.”

“And when he hurts you – or worse – how am I supposed to live with that?”

“And when he kills Elizabeth because you didn’t do what he said, how do I live with myself? How do you go on?” He had to make Peter understand.

Peter got up and paced the length of the room. He went over to the mantle and looked at the knives before turning back to him. “What does Keller want with your skin?”

“Why is that relevant?”

“Come on, he knows about it – he was very specific in his demands.”

“It doesn’t matter, Peter. I’m not running and I’m not letting him hurt Elizabeth. You brought this to me; you had to know that I wasn’t going to just disappear into the night. Whatever else you might think about me, you have to know that I’m not a coward, I’d never let someone else be injured in my place.”

“I know. I know.” Peter bowed his head, a man defeated.

“Let’s think it through – we’re really good at this.”

Peter gave him a faint smile. “Yes, we are.”

“And you have skills that Keller doesn’t know about.”

“And those skills are highly unreliable.”

“But you said that they are also highly accurate.”

Peter nodded.

“Then maybe it’s time to force the issue. You told me that I amplify your gift. What exactly did you mean by that?”

“It’s hard to say – I can touch you sometimes and get very clear images of what you’re going to do. But only sometimes. I never saw the mess with Fowler – I knew you were going to try something, but not with a gun.”

Things became clearer now. “You’ve pretty much kept your hands off me for the last few months. I’ve … missed that.” Neal hoped Peter understood all that he was saying in those three words. 

Their eyes met, and beneath the fear Peter had for Elizabeth, there was something else. “I’ve been afraid of what I’d see. Afraid I’d see you leaving.” 

There was something else Peter wasn’t telling him, but that didn’t matter right now. “I have an idea. Do you think that maybe you can use me as an antenna? Does that make any sense?”

“I think so. If I touch you and hold something of Elizabeth’s, maybe I can get something. Maybe it can work like a bridge.”

“Not maybe. It will.” Neal had to believe – this had to work. “And then what?”

“We do what we do best.” 

Neal grinned, it felt strange but good. Peter very clearly stressed the “we.” Neal wondered if he realized what he had done. His skin realized that too and floated around him in joy.


	5. Chapter 5

For the first time since he came home to a house full of FBI agents, Peter had hope. Hope that he’d be able to bring Elizabeth home, hope that Neal would survive whatever disaster Keller had planned for him. Hope that Neal would – despite the return of his skin – choose to stay with them. And hope for something more that he couldn’t let himself think about quite yet.

Neal rather ironically asked, “Is it too much to hope, but do you have anything of Elizabeth’s on you?”

Peter took at her cell phone but shook his head in frustration. “I’ve never been able to get my talents to work with electronics. But we can try.”

Neal held out his hand and the skin, perhaps sensing the importance of the moment, rested its head against Peter. He placed his palm over Neal’s, flesh on flesh, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

At first, there was nothing, and dread coupled with disappointment. Then Neal tightened his grip and that damn skin worked itself up his pants leg and a circuit seemed to close. His brain was flooded with images that quickly settled into a moving stream, like a video feed. Elizabeth in a room, she was exhausted and in pain, but above all, she was terrified. The room – it looked like an ordinary bedroom except that the windows were boarded over and there was no knob on the door. And there were video cameras placed to catch every angle.

Peter had to try something. _El? Can you hear me?_

She looked up, eyes moving from side to side.

_Hon, love – don’t say anything._

_Peter?_

He smiled, relief coursing through him. _I can hear you._

 _How?_

He felt her confusion as well as her joy. _It’s complicated, but Neal’s functioning like a signal booster._ Peter didn’t know how long he would be able to sustain this connection. _Do you have any idea where you are?_

_There’s water – I can smell it, and I can hear the waves. There are no trucks, but I’ve heard cars and …_

As he feared, the connection was burning out. _Boats? Did you hear any boats?_

_Yes – I …_

That was it, everything just shut down. Peter’s knees went out from under him and he stumbled to the table. Neal stood there, dazed until the skin nudged at him, and he sat down next to Peter.

“Did you … see anything?”

“Everything – I saw everything. How can you live like that? Knowing that any random touch could bring disaster?”

Peter tried to explain. “It’s never been like that before.” But they had to focus on what they learned. “Do you have any idea where Keller’s keeping her?”

“There are almost six hundred miles of waterfront in the New York City area – and that doesn’t include Long Island or New Jersey.” Neal paused. “Hold on – let’s see if we can use your talents a little more.” He went to the bookcase and came back with an atlas of old New York area maps. “This may help.”

With the skin draping itself across their laps and the book on top of it, Peter took Neal’s hand, and riffled the pages against his thumb. It worked. He felt a definite jolt and repeated the action. The page opened to a map of the Bronx – specifically the northeast section. Peter ran his fingers along the coastline and stopped. 

“She’s on City Island.”

Neal let go of his hand. “What now?”

“Do you have something a little more modern?” Peter hoped that they could repeat this with a detailed street map and get Elizabeth’s exact location.

“No, and I guess you don’t have one in the Taurus.”

“No, but we came in Jones’ car. Hold on.”

Peter ran downstairs and asked Clinton for a city atlas. The man gave him a look, but thankfully didn’t ask why he didn’t use an Internet mapping site. Jones ran out and quickly came back with a somewhat tattered road atlas for the five boroughs. 

“Peter, what’s going on?” Diana asked.

He looked at the three people – his colleagues and his friends. And yes, despite everything, he still had to consider Moz his friend.

“Neal and I think we know where Keller is keeping Elizabeth. But we need this --” He held up the book of maps. “To pinpoint it.” 

“How?” Moz was the one who asked the dreaded question.

“I – I can’t say.”

Moz seemed to understand, but Clinton and Diana just looked confused.

“Moz – ”

“Yeah, Suit?”

“Are you with us?”

They stared at each other and Peter tried to ignore the cuts and bruises that Neal had inflicted. 

Moz finally nodded. “Yeah, of course I am.” _Now._

“Can you take them – ” Peter gestured with his head to Clinton and Diana, “To it? And wait for my signal.”

“Of course I can.”

Peter went back upstairs with the atlas and still more hope. But what he found waiting for him in the apartment drained that hope.

Neal was naked and had stepped into his skin.

“What are you doing?” That was a stupidly obvious question.

Neal looked at him, devastated. “It doesn’t work – I don’t know why, but it doesn’t work.” He dropped the skin, which was disconcertingly lifeless, and stood there, tears streaming down his face. “Peter, why doesn’t it work?”

Peter didn’t know how to answer. He knew almost nothing about selkie mythology. He had intended to do some research, but he figured he had plenty of time before giving the skin back to Neal. 

He looked at Neal, as beautiful and ageless as a Greek statue, except for the tracking anklet.

Could that be it?

“Neal, give me your foot.” He pulled his key ring – with the tracker key – out of his pocket and knelt down to unlock it. He studiously ignored the other man’s genitalia as he removed the black plastic and titanium cuff, fingers lingering for just a moment. He quickly closed the cuff and reengaged the GPS tracking.

“Okay – try now.” Peter stood up, a little shaken. There were no visions, but there was _something_ – power and light and an unnamable emotion. He held his breath, watching, waiting.

Neal stepped into the skin and it flowed over him. Peter couldn’t pinpoint the moment when he changed from man into animal, the transition happened between heartbeats. One moment Neal was standing there, an expression of pure joy on his face, and the next he was a sleek, dark seal, with eyes the color of the sky just before the sun sets.

“Neal?” Peter wasn’t sure if he vocalized the name. He held out his hand, like a child at the zoo. Neal – shuffled – waddled – hauled himself over and snuffled at Peter’s hand. _Neal?_ Peter wondered if his gift, Neal’s own magical qualities, would give them some communication. But there wasn’t a reply; Neal just looked up at him with those huge, unfamiliar eyes. Peter took some relief in the deep and ancient intelligence that was there. This wasn’t some dumb beast; it was still Neal, with the capacity to make choices.

Whiskers brushed along the palm of his hand, and a tingle went up his arm. Neal was sitting there, naked and smiling. He got up, lifted the skin and let it flow onto the table. 

“Get dressed, we have to find Elizabeth.” Peter said, turning to the city atlas he had gotten from Jones.

_________________________

The momentary terror of the failed transformation and the sudden joy of the complete reunion with his skin, the other half of him, was dizzying. Neal could feel the river; it wasn’t that far, he could be gone in an instant, lost amongst the currents and waves. 

The room was too bright for eyes made for the undersea world, but strangely, he could see Peter with perfect clarity. He eased himself over and nuzzled the outstretched hand. He touched Peter and the urge to find the sea and lose himself faded. Three hundred years of longing and loss were gone with that simple contact.

With barely a thought, he stripped out of the skin and sat there, looking up at Peter, knowing true peace at last.

He didn’t say anything about his sea change, they had to rescue Elizabeth. He couldn’t afford to distract Peter with this. He just hoped he would survive whatever Keller had planned for him.

Peter was staring at the street maps for City Island as Neal pulled on a pair of pants, but left his torso bare. “Have you found it?”

He looked up at Neal. “No, but it feels like I’m close.” Peter held out his hand and Neal grasped it. 

“Concentrate on the streets that run along the shoreline. Elizabeth said she heard the water.”

Peter ran his finger along the map, stopping at a house on King Street. “Here – Elizabeth’s here.”

“Okay, okay.” Neal retrieved the laptop that Moz had given him to monitor the treasure. He pulled up a satellite map of City Island and zoomed onto the location Peter had found. It was a small white house with a short dock in back. “What do you think?”

Peter zoomed in as far as the map would allow. “I think it’s a deathtrap. Keller probably has a boat waiting for him – a getaway in case anything goes wrong.”

“How do you think he is going to request the exchange? Have us drive the treasure to the front door?” Neal was being facetious, but Peter took him seriously.

“No, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has the meet somewhere in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m not so sure. He wants my skin. He’ll want to stay by the water.” Neal hoped Peter didn’t remember that he’d never gotten an answer why Keller wanted his skin.

Peter zoomed out and scrolled through the map. “So where?”

“I’m not the one with precognitive talents.”

Peter gave him a dirty look.

“Besides, why would we wait for him to dictate terms?”

“What are you suggesting?”

Neal didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

“No, you’re not doing that. You aren’t offering yourself in exchange for Elizabeth. We’ve already been through this.”

“Peter, it’s the only way to get her out, get her safe. And if I can’t get her out, I can protect her. I can take care of myself, better than you think.”

“I know you can – but …”

“But nothing, Peter. There is nothing you should think about but getting Elizabeth home. Nothing.”

Peter looked like he was about to argue again. Neal ached – there was a very good chance that he wouldn’t survive the exchange. But he couldn’t turn back; without Elizabeth, there was no future for either of them. He brushed his fingers against the back of Peter’s hand, skimming across his wedding ring. The touch sparked a fire, pouring all of the love, all of the devotion, all of his longing into that brief connection and willing Peter to see _something_ of a future.

Peter just shook his head. “Don’t, Neal, please.”

He backed off. “Okay.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want your touch – I just can’t… Not now.”

Neal understood, and he shouldn’t have pushed it. If Peter saw what Keller’s plans were, he’d lock him away and go after Keller himself. He went to his bedroom and reached into the wardrobe cabinet to retrieve a set of leather straps. He put them on, ignoring Peter’s startled looks. The straps held a scabbard for the long, narrow blade he had thought to use on Mozzie if he hadn’t decided to cooperate. 

The long knife was something he had acquired at the turn of the century and put into storage. Quite ironically, Mozzie had retrieved it for him a few months after he’d taken up residence here. He stretched his arm above his head and easily sheathed the blade. The top of the hilt was just below the nape of his neck.

“Neal, what are you doing?”

“Keller’s men won’t pat down my spine. You didn’t think I was going to walk into that house unarmed?”

“A sword, Neal? Come on, you really think that’s going to protect you?”

“Peter, remember what I am – I can’t be killed. But I need to get Elizabeth out.”

“But you can be hurt – a gunshot would disable you, certainly.”

“Keller won’t shoot me, he won’t let his men injure me. He won’t risk damaging the skin.”

“Why are you so sure?”

 _Damn_. “I am – trust me, please. This is the only way.”

He met Peter’s eyes and tried to make him understand. 

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“You’re not going to tell me why Keller wants your skin, and you along with it?”

“No.”

“You’re not exchanging your life for Elizabeth’s. We have the location, we can send in a SWAT team.”

“And you know the odds of Elizabeth surviving a direct assault are nil, right?”

Peter nodded, slowly.

Neal pulled on a black sweater. A little warm for the season, but it would give him easy access to the knife at his back.

“Come on, it’s time.” He picked up the skin, let it slide back into the box and closed the flaps. Peter took the tracker with him and called the EMU as he followed him out the door.

_________________________

“Do you know what’s going on up there?” Diana asked Moz, but the little guy just shrugged. It had been close to two hours since they first got here.

Clinton paced the length of the parlor. The waiting was getting to him, but he trusted that Peter knew what he was doing. Whatever had been going on with him and Neal before – when Peter got home to find that his wife had been kidnapped – seemed to be resolved. 

Moz knew what was going on, he was sure of it, but short of pulling out his fingernails, the man wasn’t going to tell them anything. And by the condition of his face, it was possible that he’d hold out even against that.

He wondered if Diana knew – there had been things going on between she and Peter, like with the music box last year. He didn’t bother to wonder – she was Peter’s go-to girl and nothing was going to change that. But from the worried expression on her face, it didn’t seem like she was in the loop on this.

Neal and Peter finally came downstairs. Neal was carrying the box that Peter had brought with him earlier, and Peter handed him back his street atlas.

Diana beat him to the question. “Do you know where Elizabeth is?”

“Keller’s got her in a house on City Island, facing the northeast shore.”

“How?” Clinton had to ask, but from the looks on both Neal and Peter’s faces, he wasn’t going to get an answer. And he was right. 

Peter simply replied. “That doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not going to bring in SWAT, are you?” 

Peter shook his head. “No, not yet, not if I don’t have to.”

Moz finally joined the conversation. “And Neal, you’re going to trade yourself and that –” He pointed at the box, “For Elizabeth.”

“Yes. A fair exchange.”

The tension between Moz, Peter and Neal was thick enough to cut. Whatever was going on here was more than just about Mrs. Burke. Diana looked like she knew part of it, but obviously not everything.

“How do you want us do to this?” Clinton directed his question at Peter, but Neal was the one who answered.

“Moz is going to take you and Diana to a truck, and you’ll wait for Peter’s signal.” He gave Moz an indecipherable look. The little guy just nodded.

“What are you and Peter going to do?” 

“I’m going to swap myself for Elizabeth. Keller wants me and once he has what he wants, he’ll release Elizabeth.”

“Or hold you both until he gets away with everything,” Moz all but snarled. “Or kills you both.”

Peter didn’t say anything, and Clinton was having a hard time believing that his boss was going to let Neal walk into a situation that might very well mean his death. Peter wasn’t like that – he wasn’t the kind of agent – or man – who would accept that kind of risk to another human being, let alone someone that was in his custody, someone he called friend, regardless of the hostage.

But apparently Peter was going along with this, and there was nothing he could do about it.

_________________________

Peter pulled Moz away from Neal and his agents and rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. Images of a now familiar room filled with the Nazi loot flickered through his mind, each successive picture showing the space as it was steadily emptied into a truck. He felt the memory of Moz straining to lift a crate of gold bars. He reached a little further, squeezing Moz’s shoulder, letting the back of his thumb brush the man’s cheek and the skin to skin contact paid off. He saw Jones and Diana and Moz in a small, hot garage where a large truck was parked. He felt Moz’s trepidation, his anger and his self-loathing.

“Suit? Are you going to let me go, or what?”

Peter released him. “Moz, thank you.”

Moz nodded at him. “We’ll wait for your signal. Just – just don’t let Keller kill Neal. He wants him dead.”

“I know – but Neal …”

“Neal thinks he’s immortal, untouchable. But he forgets that for every Superman, there’s some type of kryptonite. And I’m afraid that Keller’s going to be his.”

Peter was relieved that he was still concerned about him, despite what happened in the apartment not so long ago.

Neal joined them, the box with his skin balanced on his hip. “Peter, can I have a minute?” 

He reluctantly moved out of earshot, he desperately wanted to know what they were saying to each other. But very few words were exchanged – Neal just let Moz peek inside the box and give the skin a brief caress before going to the Citroën. He watched the car pull away with Diana and Jones, confident for the moment that Moz would stick to the plan.

Their own trip took about a half hour, and with each mile, the butterflies in Peter’s stomach multiplied.

They drove in silence. Neal had let the skin out of the box, and it rested on his lap like an enormous, very contented cat. He turned onto the street where Elizabeth was being held and parked. It was a suburban oasis, a white collar neighborhood filled with split levels and modest colonials that backed onto Pelham Bay.

“Neal, this is a bad idea. I don’t like it.” 

“Do you want Elizabeth back?”

“Of course, but—”

“But nothing. If you bring in the FBI, he’ll kill her before they storm the place. We’ve been over this.”

“I know – I know and I hate the idea that this is the only option.”

They both got out of the car. Well, all three of them, if you considered the skin.

They stood side by side, looking up the block. The house where Keller was holding his wife was no different from its neighbors – maybe set just a little further apart. It was a center hall colonial, two stories, a nightmare for a two-person assault. The front light was off, but an upstairs bedroom window was lit.

“Can you see anything?” Neal asked. Peter wasn’t sure if he meant with just his conventional senses.

“No, damn it.” 

Neal wrapped his hand around his wrist. “Now?” 

Peter _looked_ again, and the house was ablaze. He could see the bars across all of the windows in the front, the bricked- and boarded-over windows in the back, and Elizabeth, terrified and in pain. 

“It’s not the strategic nightmare it could have been. El’s in an upstairs bedroom, facing the water. There’s no basement.”

“How many people?”

“Three guards and Keller. I can feel him.” Peter swallowed against a rising panic. “It’s like brushing up against a shark.”

Neal didn’t let go of him and he felt the skin slide against his body, the fear replaced by Neal, his thoughts, his feelings. Images of him literally through the ages. A man always alone, trapped by time and by loss.

“Peter…” Neal said his name with such utter desperation. “I need to tell you, I can’t walk in there without you knowing.”

“Neal –” The next word out of his mouth should have been _don’t_ , but he couldn’t say it. 

His fingers skimmed against Peter’s cheek – a touch so gently intimate his heart clenched, and then broke. “If you don’t know this already, know that I love you. In all my life, you are the only person who has the power to keep me from wanting the sea. I am with you and I don’t need to be anywhere else.”

Peter was speechless; this was a gift of incalculable magnitude.

Neal held out his hand and the skin flowed onto him, draping itself around his shoulders. He turned and started to walk towards the house.

“Neal, wait.” He grabbed him. “You’re not alone in this – you never have been.” This time, their connection was as mundane as it could be between them. “I’ve been fighting this feeling for years, refusing to allow myself to be hurt. God, if there a worse time to be having this discussion, I can’t think of one. But come back to me. Bring Elizabeth home and come back to us.”

Neal gave him a swift, hard kiss and stepped back, his face pale and stricken in the moonlight. “I will. Don’t worry – I will.”

* * *

The butterfly knife clicked open and shut like a metronome turned on high. 

Matthew Keller was bored. Tormenting Elizabeth Burke had lost its appeal, and he couldn’t risk calling her husband. They certainly knew how he was routing his calls and would be waiting for the opportunity to do a tap and trace. And his silence at this point would be ratcheting up their anxiety levels. Keller didn’t believe for one instant that Burke hadn’t reported their last communication to his people. There was no way he was turning Caffrey over to him, not without backup and agents ready to pounce. 

He didn’t know whether he’d let Elizabeth Burke live. If Burke fulfilled his side of the bargain, there was no reason to kill her. Except that it would cause a maximum amount of pain to Neal and to Moz. And to the ever-vigilant, oh-so-upright Agent Peter Burke.

The knife clicked and clacked in time with his thoughts.

Keller wasn’t a man who second-guessed his plans, but he had to wonder if he should have just demanded the treasure, and left Neal and his skin and immortality for another day. Or vice-versa. He had the feeling he’d just bitten off more than he could chew.

It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t have the time or the resources. First thing he’d have to do is arrange for some radical plastic surgery – just like that old movie. Probably get some work done on his vocal chords, too. Of course, he’d have to kill the surgeon afterwards, and the nurses.

This was all getting too messy. 

He checked the monitors. Mrs. Burke was no longer pacing the room, but lying on the bed, cradling her wrist, the audio feed picked up her breathing. The night vision cameras on the back of the house were working, but nothing was out there except the dock and the running lights from distant boats crossing the dark waters of Pelham Bay and the Long Island Sound. Streetlights fucked up the infrared cameras on the front of the house, which was why he still had the three guards. 

Keller stared at the monitor – there was someone coming up to front steps. He reached for his gun as the doorbell rang. He wasn’t going to answer it, but the ringing became insistent, followed by a fist pounding.

And Neal Caffrey calling his name.

_________________________

This was, perhaps, the biggest risk he’d ever taken in his life. 

There wasn’t much that could permanently hurt him, but there was no telling what Keller would do to Elizabeth if he were crossed. Neal banged on the door and called out for the bastard. “Matthew Keller, get down here, now.” He restrained himself, though. Breaking through the door would only put Elizabeth in further jeopardy.

Deadbolts slid back and the door opened wide enough for a gun muzzle to appear. Neal stepped back and put his hands up. Someone, not Keller, spoke. “What the fuck do you want?”

“What I want is not your business. Get me Keller.” Neal figured that Matthew was standing behind his goon, but the door shut and the deadbolts were reengaged. Neal waited, counting down the seconds.

It felt like an eternity, but by the time Neal got to thirty, Keller opened the door, gun pointed squarely at his chest. He instructed the guards to pat him down and to check his ankle. They found nothing, and as he figured, they didn’t extend the pat-down to his spine.

“Two AM isn’t really proper visiting hours, Caffrey. And you’re a day early.”

Neal played it cool and said nothing.

“And how did you find this place?”

Neal brushed past the guards and their guns. “You’re not the only one with brains.” 

If Keller was going to press for an answer, his skin provided a much needed distraction. It raised its head from Neal’s shoulder to “look” at Keller.

Keller dismissed the guards. It wasn’t a foolhardy move; he knew that as long as he had Elizabeth, Neal wasn’t going to try anything. “That’s it, isn’t it? I didn’t realize it had a life of its own. Nothing I’ve read about selkies mentioned that the skin was alive.”

Neal gave him a tight smile. “You think we’d let that become common knowledge?” 

Keller tried to touch it and it reared back and then lunged at him. If it were a snake, it would have hissed; if it had teeth, Keller might have lost a few fingers. Neal reached over his shoulder and stroked it, ostensibly a calming gesture.

“It doesn’t like you.”

Keller’s eyes narrowed.

Neal spoke plainly. “I don’t think you’re going to get what you want.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Keller – the treasure is waiting for you. Release Elizabeth Burke and the truck will be here in a half hour.”

“Ransom exchanges don’t work like that, Neal.”

He nodded; it was worth a shot. “Then let me call my contact –”

“Your contact? You mean Mozzie.”

“You really think Moz was going to voluntarily give up the score of a lifetime?”

Keller didn’t say anything, just raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Let’s just say I took a page out of your book.”

“My book?”

“What you did to Hale.”

“You actually think I believe that you shot Mozzie until he gave it up? Pull the other one.”

“Oh, I didn’t use a gun.” Neal grinned, baring his teeth. The skin did its cobra imitation again.

“I guess I was wrong about you, Caffrey. You do have the capacity for violence.”

Neal shrugged. “Sometimes, the sharp edge of a knife can be very useful.”

Keller actually blinked, and Neal thought he had him. But the moment passed.

“No, we’re going to stick with the original schedule. You’ll have the treasure delivered tomorrow night, just before the full moon rises. I’ll release your fed’s wife when it’s cleared. Then you and me – we’re going to have our little dance.”

“You mean, you’re going to try and club me to death to take the skin’s power.”

Keller inclined his head, an oddly regal gesture for him. “Probably. Unless you can just give me what I want.”

“Matthew, immortality is not what it’s cracked up to be.”

“The problem with you, Caffrey is that you’re a people-person. Or a people-selkie. You care too much. I don’t have those issues.”

Neal shrugged. “It’s more than that. But nothing I say will change your mind, will it?”

“Nah. And you’re being extraordinarily civilized. It makes me wonder what you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“Nothing.” Neal pushed he sleeves up to prove it, as if that was all that Keller meant.

“By the way, where is your Fed?”

“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to ask. For that matter, I’m really surprised you let me inside.” 

“Truthfully, if you were his stalking horse, they would have stormed this place by now.”

Neal kept a grin of triumph off his face. “Peter’s with the FBI back at his house – they’re waiting for your next call. Trying to figure out where you took Elizabeth.” This was a verbal chess match, and Neal intended to play it to a draw – for now.

“And he just conveniently let you off your tracker? I’m not buying it.” 

“Oh, he doesn’t know I’m on the loose. He sent me home – he’s rather angry at me right now. He blames me for your actions.”

Keller shrugged and gave him a nasty grin. “I told Mozzie that if he didn’t give me a share, he wouldn’t like what happened.” Keller looked down at his ankle. “So, how did you get off your leash?”

“That would be telling.” Neal hoped to string Keller along.

“Tell, tell.”

“I got my skin from Moz, and once I put it on, the tracker just went ‘poof’.”

“Poof, as in disappeared? Why aren’t the Marshals after you?”

“Not that type of poof – it stayed outside the skin, and when I stepped out of it, the tracker was there. Still locked, still active. Got my landlady’s dog into my apartment and he’s wearing it as an accessory. Moves around just enough that it doesn’t send up an alert.”

“Smart, I’ll give you that.” Keller reached out again, but the skin shied away.

“It still doesn’t like you, and neither do I.” 

“Pity, I really didn’t want to kill you.”

“Don’t start lying, Keller – it doesn’t suit you. You’ve wanted me dead since I dumped you in Nice. You’ve never forgiven me for that.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Caffrey.”

“You’re pathetic attempts with Kate – she told me all about those, by the way.”

“She did?” There was just a touch of anger in his reply.

This was going better than he’d planned. Keller, for all his ice-cold intelligence, his near sociopathic lack of empathy, still had chinks and cracks in his emotional armor. “Oh, she told me everything. You’d come sniffing around – you’d try to buy her. She’d take your presents, she’d let you put your hands on her, but that was all. She’d come and tell me – and we’d have a good laugh.” He kept his tone conversational, as if nothing he said really mattered.

Keller stiffened and Neal thought he’d gotten through that armor. But he didn’t. “Pity she’s dead now. Pity you got her killed.”

A part of him – the part that would always grieve for Kate – wanted to smash Keller’s face in. But he couldn’t afford to lose control. He needed to reset the game. “So, you think that clubbing me to death under the full moon is going to get you my skin and immortality?”

“Something like that.”

“Your Scottish granny tell you that?”

Keller gave him a sharp look. 

“You’re going to be disappointed.”

“And maybe you’re lying just to save your pretty ass. You lie as easily as you breathe.”

“It’s a talent.” Neal continued to play for time, but when Keller called for his guards, it seemed that time ran out.

_________________________

Elizabeth tried not to shiver, afraid that once she started, she’d never be able to stop. There was plenty of heat and even a blanket on the bed. She wasn’t physically cold, it was the fear and the exhaustion and the pain.

She tried to cling to the memory of Peter’s voice in her head, but in this place without time, she couldn’t be sure what was and not real. 

Crying wasn’t an option – it wouldn’t help and would only make her feel worse, if that was possible. Matthew Keller was a man without sympathy. It wasn’t that he couldn't understand her fear, he just didn’t care. She was a means to an end for him, that was obvious. Elizabeth knew that he’d soon as kill her than let her go, even when he got what he demanded.

It didn’t surprise her that Neal had the treasure; Peter had talked about his suspicions for months, and despite the report she had gotten from the testing lab, all signs were pointing to Neal’s involvement. Maybe if she got out of this alive, she’d be angry with Neal. But right now, she’d give anything to see him. What she didn’t understand, though, was this thing of Neal’s that Keller wanted – that was strange. She heard him talking to Peter about a list – something from the U-boat, something that Neal may not even actually have. She desperately hoped it wasn’t his skin.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was going to die. There would be no rescue, no heroics. Even if she had actually connected with Peter, how was he going to find her? Despairing and ate the last of her reserves, she started to shiver and couldn’t stop, she couldn't keep the fear at bay anymore.

There were voices – angry, but indistinct – from outside the door. The sound of the deadbolt sliding open grated on her already frayed nerves. Was this going to be it? She struggled to her feet, it mattered that she died resisting as much as she could.

The door opened and to her shock, it was Neal. But with Keller standing behind him, it wasn’t a rescue.

“As you can see, Caffrey, Mrs. Burke here is alive and well, and more than a little fragrant.”

El flushed with shame and anger.

“Let her go, Keller. You have me now.”

“No, I told you – we play this according to my rules. Your associates deliver the treasure tomorrow, and Mrs. Burke gets returned to your fed. Then we play out the endgame.” 

She stepped back as Neal was pushed into the room. His face was impassive, but his eyes were practically glowing. He was trying to tell her something and she hoped she got it right.

“You bastard, you have some nerve! Coming here – thinking that you can just step in and make everything right!” She screeched at the top of her lungs. Neal gave her a small nod of encouragement. “You’re going to rot in prison, you – you…” El couldn’t think of an invective strong enough.

“Caffrey, you’re going to have a lot of fun for the next twenty-four hours.” Keller slammed the door shut and the deadbolts were thrown, locking the two of them in the room.

She was about to throw herself at Neal when he held up a finger, point to small black circles on the ceiling. He mouthed the word “cameras” and she was appalled, never realizing that her every moment had been monitored. He put the skin on the bed and pulled over a chair. Elizabeth watched as he tore each one out, leaving wires obscenely dangling from the ceiling. He jumped down and surveyed the rest of the small room, finding and destroying another two cameras and what looked like a listening device.

“Okay, I think that’s everything.” Neal dumped the mass of electronics in a wastebasket. He checked the boarded-up windows and the door. “There’s no way out, even if I could get you down a ladder.” Neal murmured under his breath. Then he looked up and smiled. 

El smiled back, quavering and almost at the edge of hysterics, but it was a smile. “How did you find me?”

He held out a hand and she all but fell into his arms. “This has been a night for revealing secrets,” Neal whispered. “You and Peter – your connection is unbreakable.”

El whispered back. “He said you were like an amplifier…or was that my imagination?” 

“No, it wasn’t. When you get of here – and you will – Peter will explain everything.” Neal’s voice dropped even lower and he spoke directly into her ear. “I am certain that I got all of the cameras, but Keller may have another bug.”

She looked at him, worried. 

He shook his head and mouthed ‘play along.’ She nodded her agreement.

“Elizabeth – listen – everything will be all right. I’ve got plans in motion …”

She didn’t let him finish. “I don’t care what plans or schemes you’ve got going – you’re responsible for this – this is all your fault.” El closed her mouth with a snap. That was way too close to the truth of her feelings.

“Hey, no, it’s not my fault.” Neal whined. 

“There are always choices. You made yours and now you’re going to pay for them.” At Neal’s instruction, she raised her uninjured hand and hit him hard across the face. The contact reverberated through her body, sending shooting pains of agony through her broken wrist and she screamed. Elizabeth cradled her arm and tried not to wretch as Neal moved her to the bed. His skin wriggled over to her, flopping onto her lap.

Neal rubbed his cheek and sat down across from her. He took the newspaper that Keller had left behind, rolled it into several thick tubes and ripped a pillowcase into strips. “Take a deep breath; I’m going to splint your wrist, okay?” He took her injured hand.

She nodded, closing her eyes and willing herself into stillness. Neal was gentle, but even the slightest movement was excruciating. 

“There – all done,” and lifted her hand off his knee. The rigid splint and the careful wrapping kept the bones from shifting any further, and while her hand and arm still hurt, it was now a dull throb, no longer knife-sharp agony.

He brushed his fingers over her cheekbone, where Keller had backhanded her twice. “I’m going to kill him, you know. If just for this.”

“If he doesn’t kill you first.”

Neal shook his head. “Don’t think about that, okay?” He took her uninjured hand and opened up her fingers, softly caressing her palm. He touched her wedding band. “I want to try something, okay?”

“Okay.” She had no idea what Neal was going to do, but doing something was better than sitting here, waiting to die.

_________________________

Peter watched Neal walk away and all his instincts screamed at him to follow. He wondered if this was going to be the last time he was going to see him. The kiss he had given him, all he saw was Neal’s hunger and longing. And love. 

It was there in every heartbeat that passed between them, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t see even the slightest glimmer of a future. Peter didn’t know if the emotions between them were overwhelming his gift, or there was simply nothing to see.

_That there was no future._

He clenched his hands and instantly felt something was missing. His wedding ring was gone. For nearly thirteen years, that band was a familiar weight, anchoring him when work would have simply pulled him away. There were times it had to come off, when undercover assignments dictated. Once, when he had been hospitalized after a gunshot wound. But it never just came off – it was as much a part of him as his arms and legs. 

Peter closed his eyes, trying to remember what could have happened to it. The loss was a distraction he couldn’t afford. In his mind, he felt long, smooth fingers reach around his hand, gently removing it as a mouth burned against his. He couldn’t understand why Neal took his wedding band.

His cell phone buzzed and he checked the caller ID. It was Hughes, and he didn’t dare ignore it.

“Burke, where the HELL are you?”

There were a dozen different answers he could give, but in this case, the truth was the best. “Getting my wife back.”

“Damn it, Peter, you shouldn’t be anywhere near this investigation. You know better than that.”

Peter didn’t reply.

“Look, I know I’d want to do the same thing if this was my wife, but you have to let us do our jobs.”

“I can’t just sit back and wait.” 

“We have a lead, Peter. Keller was spotted getting out of another black van on Staten Island.”

“That’s on the other side of the city from where they found the vehicle that transported Elizabeth.”

“I know, but it’s a positive ID, there were a half-dozen traffic cameras that picked him up.”

“It’s a red herring, Reese. I doubt he’s anywhere near there now. And even if he was – do you have any clue where to start? Staten Island is not a small place.” Peter checked his watch, any longer and they’d complete the tap and trace on his location.

“Where are you, Peter? Rice wants to talk to Neal again. I’m going to send someone over to pick Neal up. You really should be here.”

Peter hung up, ending the call. Hughes redialed and Peter didn’t answer. He just sat in Jones’ car and watched the house up the block, where his heart and his soul were kept in peril.

_________________________

The small garage where Moz had stashed the truck was almost unbearably hot, and the waiting was driving Diana crazy. She was accustomed to waiting – the hundreds of hours logged in the surveillance van on stakeouts was testimony to the reserves of patience that every FBI agent needed. But this was something different, there were lives at stake. Lives of people she cared deeply about.

Diana didn’t dare call Peter or Neal. They very deliberately didn’t tell any of them how this was going to go down. But she could draw her own conclusions, could put two and two together. Somehow, they found where Keller was keeping Elizabeth and Neal was going to strike a deal with him.

Mozzie’s truck probably contained the treasure, and that was their big bargaining chip. Instead of turning it in, Peter was willing to let Moz trade it for his wife’s life. 

This was going to spell the end of Peter’s career – maybe her own and Jones’ too. And strangely enough, that thought didn’t hurt as much as it should. Saving El’s life was the priority. The odds of recovering a kidnap victim in these circumstances were low, and given what she knew about Matthew Keller, it was unlikely that he planned on letting Peter’s wife go, even if he got what he wanted. She knew that following the FBI playbook would mean Elizabeth’s death.

“How long do you think we’re going to have to wait?” Jones had stripped down to his tee shirt, and she would have done the same if she could. “Times like this, I’m sorry I gave up smoking.”

Diana looked over at Moz, who had discarded Clinton’s oversized Harvard Law sweatshirt. He was sitting on the floor, eyes closed and breathing in slow regular breaths, lips moving in a silent mantra. The cuts and bruises were visible even under the dim light of a single incandescent bulb, and she once again wondered what had happened to him – what _Neal_ had done to him.

Her cell phone rang, cutting though the silence like a knife. It was Hughes. She let it ring through to voice mail. Clinton’s phone rang right afterwards, he didn’t answer either.

He looked at her. “Hughes just called me. What do you want to do?”

“Nothing. We wait – we sit tight. Peter will contact us when he needs to.”

“You’re ignoring that?” Moz finally spoke. “I’m surprised.”

“Why?” 

“Well, don’t your kind always stick together?”

“What do you mean, ‘our kind’?”

“Suits – you always stick together.”

Diana didn’t know how to answer Moz, or if she should. “I’m not a drone, Moz. If I didn’t believe this was the best course of action, I wouldn’t be here.” As the words left her mouth, she realized that it was a lie. She was here because of her loyalty to Peter, her friendship with Neal.

Moz gave her a disbelieving look before settling back into his meditative posture.

Jones checked his voice mail, and from his expression, she could tell that the message was unpleasant. “Hughes says that if we don’t check in, we’re facing suspension and dismissal.”

“Are you going to call in?” Diana tried to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. She had a lot more to lose that Clinton, who was almost a decade out of his probationary period with several commendations in his file. She was still just starting out.

“No, I’ll take whatever is coming. If we go in, it could fuck everything up. Peter’s depending on us.”

Diana nodded. “Yeah, whatever will be, will be.”

They settled down to wait and sweat as the minutes ticked into hours. When her phone rang again, she nearly had a heart attack. But this time, it was Peter. She put him on speaker.

“I know where Elizabeth is.” He gave her an address. “They are in a house on City Island.”

“Can we rescue her?”

“No, a direct assault won’t work. Keller can kill them before a SWAT team can rescue them.”

“Them?” Diana’s heart sunk, she knew just who the other person was.

“Neal’s locked in with Elizabeth – Keller wouldn’t accept the trade.”

“Damn. Now he has two hostages. What are we going to do?

“I need you to meet me here.”

Moz got up at joined them. “With the truck?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause. “I don’t know how this is going to go down. All I know is that Keller put Neal in with Elizabeth.”

“Neal will do everything possible to protect her.” Moz asserted, and Diana wondered if that was the plan all along.

Peter didn’t comment on that. “Meet me at the entrance to the Hart Island ferry terminal.”

“Where?”

“Not far away. On the eastern side of City Island.” 

Jones was checking the location on his phone. “Got it – should take us about a half hour to get there.”

Something occurred to Diana. “We don’t have any weapons but our service pieces.” She looked at Moz, hoping he had access to an armory. He shook his head no.

“We’re not going to attack, Di. This is a trade.”

“Okay, Peter.” Whatever reservations she had, and she had plenty, she’d keep to herself. “See you soon.”

Clinton opened the garage door and climbed into the truck. Moz stood there, looking at her with a sad resigned look. “I’ll ride in the back.”

She wondered if she should object, but there really wasn’t anything Moz could do while they were en route.

She hoped.

_________________________

It was very difficult to control the rage, and he didn’t have a convenient outlet for it. Not like before … with Mozzie. It would have taken him a matter of moments to tear out the boards and the bars on the windows, but Elizabeth was in no condition to climb down or jump to safety. 

He needed to use this anger somehow. And once he got El out, he could let go. The long knife on his back had a hungry edge. 

“Neal?” Elizabeth whispered. Her hand was still cupped on his knee and his skin had spread itself like a lap robe across them both.

He gave her a reassuring smile and reached into his pocket. He held out his hand, Peter’s wedding ring rested in the middle of his palm. 

Still mindful of any hidden listening devices, Elizabeth simply mouthed ‘what?’

Neal had no idea if this would work as he slipped the band onto his index finger and touched it to El’s own ring. There was a connection, instantaneous and electric, but Neal didn’t know what it was, if it was anything more that a link between him and El.

 _“PETER!”_ He shouted in his mind, and to his profound relief, Peter answered.

 _“Neal? What? How?”_

He waded through a massive sense of confusion and tried to keep the explanation simple. _“I took your wedding band. I’ve got Elizabeth here, and the skin.”_

Peter accepted this reasoning and moved to the heart of the matter. _“Can you get her out of there?”_

_“No, she’s too badly injured – her hand is broken. Keller has cameras covering the exterior and I have no way of knowing if there are any blind spots.”_

_“Is he going to release her?”_

_“I think he will, once the treasure is delivered. I tried to move up the exchange, but he won’t budge – it has to be tomorrow night._ ”

_“Damn it. If we stormed the place, could you protect her?”_

_“I don’t think so. There are at least three men with guns. They’d probably get to us before you or the FBI could. We’re going to have to play it out.”_

The connection began to falter. Neal pushed through a final thought. _“Whatever happens, I’ll do everything I can to keep Elizabeth alive and safe. After that – don’t worry about me.”_ He heard Peter’s protest, the _NO_ resounding along their connection. He let go of Elizabeth’s hand and broke the link. 

“Are you okay?” El reached up and touched his cheek, wiping away tears. He’d been crying and didn’t realize it. 

“Yes.” He had to be. “Are you all right? Did you hear Peter?” 

“A little. It was more that I could feel him. He’s so worried.” She wiped her own tears away. “And that’s a stupidly obvious thing to say.”

“No, no. It’s not.” Neal pulled her onto his lap, and the skin snuggled around both of them. “He loves you; he’s terrified that you won’t come home to him.”

He held Elizabeth and felt the tension slowly leave her body. The enormity of the moment threatened to overwhelm him. Elizabeth trusted him, despite everything he had done and not done that led to this moment, she trusted him to keep her safe.

_________________________

Keller threw the deadbolt, locking Caffrey in with Elizabeth Burke. He didn’t buy that she was furious at Neal – he’d seen her furious – and this wasn’t even close. It didn’t matter. He had bigger problems that Mrs. Burke’s bad acting.

He retreated to the office off the kitchen and locked the door. He didn’t need any interruptions as he tried to figure out his next move. He was a chess player who planned his gambits from opening to checkmate, but he never foresaw Neal just showing up at the door. 

Keller didn’t know if he believed Neal’s tale of cutting Mozzie up – or to bits. Despite what he had intimated to Elizabeth Burke, Neal lacked the cold objectivity needed for true violence. But there was something in Neal’s eyes, something that made him want to take a step back and reconsider his plans. Maybe it was the reunion with his skin that wrought this change.

Or maybe it was that Neal Caffrey was angry, and that meant he was dangerous.

Keller turned on the monitor for Elizabeth Burke’s room. It was blank. He switched channels, switched cameras, but there was no picture. Of course Caffrey spotted the cameras and pulled them out. He turned on the audio, but that was gone too. He cursed; the broken backup mike was still in its box on the desk.

What worried him most of all was how Neal found this place. He didn’t press Caffrey because he knew that he wouldn’t tell. But it was still a problem – it meant that someone had betrayed him. Not the real estate agents and lawyers – he used too many layers when he bought this place. No, it had to be one of his crew – one of them was working with the Feds. But which one?

He picked up his butterfly knife and set it in motion, the steady clack-clack was soothing, it helped him concentrate. An hour passed, then two. As he relaxed, his next moves became very clear. 

Keller picked up his gun and went hunting.

_________________________

The walls weren’t so thick or well sound-proofed that Neal couldn’t hear the gunshots. El looked up at him, eyes wide and fearful.

“It’s over – isn’t it? He’s going to kill us.”

“Shh, shh – trust me, okay?” Neal had tied Peter’s wedding ring to the makeshift splint and touched it, hoping there was just enough power left in it to reach him.

 _“Peter?”_ He kept his thoughts gentle, not wanting to burn out the connection. _Peter, please hear me.”_ The skin wriggled, draping itself over Neal and Elizabeth’s hands. He felt the boost from its touch instantaneously.

_“Neal!”_

He kept it succinct. _“Keller is killing his crew – he’s not waiting for the treasure. Are you close?”_

_“Damn – no. No, I’m going to meet Moz and the treasure. They are still about ten minutes out”_

_“I don’t think we have anything like that much time.”_ Neal could feel the connection slipping.

 _“Neal – NEAL!”_ Peter faded away.

He squeezed Elizabeth’s hand, but there was nothing left. The deadbolt slid back, the grinding noise deafening in the silence. Keller was in the doorway, a gun in his right hand. Neal stood up, pushing Elizabeth behind him. The skin fell to the floor.

“So noble, Caffrey. I could just shoot you both and disappear.”

“ _Pis aller_ , Keller?”

He smirked. “Not quite, Neal, but almost.” Keller aimed the gun at his head, at this distance he couldn’t miss. 

Neal didn’t know if he would recover so quickly if his brains were blown out. “You’re not waiting for the treasure?” 

“Nah – I can always track that down. I’ll take the skin now.” Keller reached out and grabbed the struggling pelt. It struggled against the hold and opened its mouth in a silent scream. 

“It won’t do you any good like this.”

“I know – that’s why you two are going to come downstairs, out to the dock.” He gestured with the gun.

“No.” Neal stepped back. He needed to buy time.

But Keller wasn’t having any of that. He grappled with the skin and brought it right up to the gun. “Now, this is _pis aller_. I’ll destroy it, then kill the two of you. I’ll cut my losses and disappear. By the time the Feds arrive, you’ll both be very dead.”

“But you intend to kill me anyway.”

“That’s true, but if you come now, I’ll let Mrs. Burke go.”

Behind him, Elizabeth gripped his waist and whispered “No.”

Keller heard her. “Sweetheart – you know Neal – you know that he’s not going to pass up the opportunity to get you to safety.” 

Neal stepped forward, pulling Elizabeth against him, moving her around so that his back, not hers, was Keller’s immediate target. He ached for the skin’s safety, but he couldn’t risk El. He moved as slowly as he could.

“These little delays are only annoying me.” Keller poked him on the shoulder with the gun – thankfully away from the scabbard and the short sword. Neal refused to move any faster. 

At the base of the staircase was a dead body. One of Keller’s thugs. Elizabeth looked away.

“Was he the one who sold me out?” Keller’s voice was harsh.

“Maybe. Maybe not. At this point, does it really matter?” Neal wondered how far he should push him, he seemed very close to losing control. 

“No, not really. And keep moving.”

He steered Elizabeth around the body. “Keep your head down, don’t look.”

Keller directed them to the back of the house, where two more men were sprawled out in pools of blood. “Out the back door and down to the dock.”

Neal stopped. “You said you’d let her go, Keller.”

“Not yet, not now.” Keller pushed him again. “Outside.”

The path from the back of the house to the small dock was poorly lit, and Elizabeth stumbled. Neal wanted to drop her and take Keller down, but the press of the gun at the base of his skull stopped him. They finally made it to the small dock. The sound of the waves lapping against the piers with the outgoing tide was the only noise that broke the silence.

“Both of you, on your knees.”

Neal tried to calculate the time, but it wasn’t nearly long enough for Peter to get back here. He eased Elizabeth to her knees. Keller dropped the skin on the deck and picked up a baseball bat. He pointed his gun at Elizabeth’s head. “Neal, it’s show time. Get into that.” 

“Let her go, you promised.” 

“When you’re done, she can go.”

“Keller, she doesn’t need to see you club me to death. Please.” Neal stood up, keeping his hands out, as non-threatening as he could.

_________________________

Keller knew he was rapidly losing control of the situation. Almost all his moves were now blocked. He didn’t believe for a second that Burke was tamely waiting with the FBI back at the homestead. No – Neal had some trick up his sleeve.

Neal started to stand up.

“What are you doing? Get back down.” He pushed the gun harder into Elizabeth’s head. She flinched.

“I have to strip. I can’t do that from my knees.”

“Okay, okay. Do it now.” 

Neal reached back, to pull his sweater off. 

There was a flash of silver, long and sharp. He felt nothing as a sword plunged into his chest. He looked down and absently noted the black line of blood streaming down the blade. There was a moment’s pain, bright like the sun after leaving a dark room. From a distance, Neal’s voice echoed, “This shouldn’t have been so quick, so easy,” the nothing as the blade turned, and pulled free.

He was dead before it left his body and sank into the water.


	6. Chapter 6

Neal’s rage, contained for so many hours, gave him the speed and strength needed to strike before Keller could pull the trigger.

Elizabeth fell back, out of the way, as the lifeless body collapsed. The gun rattled on the warped planks and the baseball bat rolled into the water. Neal pulled the knife out and Keller’s body fell into the bay.

“Are you all right?” Neal went to his knees next to her. 

“Yes, I’m all right but what just happened? I thought he was going to kill me, and all of a sudden, he’s dead? What did you do?” Elizabeth was near the edge of hysteria.

Neal held her gently. “I have certain gifts -- I’ll explain to you later.” He let go and started to strip. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I have to leave – if just for a while. I need to take care of Keller.” Neal picked up the short sword and flung it deep into the bay. The bright metal of the blade shone briefly against the rising sun before it disappeared into the water.

“Neal, don’t leave. Please, I need you.” She held out her hand to him, pleading for him to stay.

“Peter will be here in a few minutes; Diana, Moz and Jones aren’t far behind. You’re safe now. I –” Neal didn’t know what to say, but he remembered the feel of her body, so tense and afraid, then so trusting. “Elizabeth, I love you. Remember that always.” 

He finished stripping, threw all his clothes in the water and stepped into the skin. He transformed into the shape he was born to and nuzzled Elizabeth’s outstretched palm.

_Goodbye._

Neal eased himself into the cold waters of the Long Island Sound; the sensation was exquisite to the point of pain. It had been so very long.

He bobbed on the surface for a few moments, watching as the bright lights from police helicopters searched the area. He thought he saw Peter running from the house down to the dock, and stayed until he was certain. But he needed to go; he had one more task to accomplish before this night was finished.

Neal dove beneath the waves, the selkie’s eyes now perfectly suited for the dark underwater environment. He quickly found what he was looking for – Matthew Keller’s lifeless body.

His first thought was to bury it here, under the rocks, but that could raise too many questions if they sent divers to look for them. Better that he take it out with the tide. Let this horrible chapter close. 

Neal took Keller’s collar between his teeth and started swimming. He wasn’t fast, and without the rip current to pull him along, it would have been impossible to carry Keller’s body to the deeper waters. There were boats moving through the water – big, fast-moving ones, likely Coast Guard cutters that the FBI called in. At first, he dodged the vessels. Then Neal realized that they could work for him, and he let the boats’ propellers cut into Keller’s body. By the time he reached the Long Island Sound, the corpse had lost its arms. He pulled it along until he was at least a mile east of the nearest landfall and dove. 

It took him to the point of exhaustion, but he buried Keller’s body under the glacial rocks. It was a pity there were no sharks in the area, that could have solved his problem with a lot less effort.

Neal swam just under the waves, heading back west and surfacing long enough to see the black silhouette of Hart Island against the morning sky. He was exhausted, and could haul out in safety on those rocky shores. Or he could give into the singular temptation to let the tide just take him out into the Sound, and from there, the deep cold waters of the Atlantic.

But he remembered the look on Peter’s face when he kissed him, the sound of Peter’s desperate thoughts in his head, the warmth of Elizabeth’s hand against his snout. He remembered the promise he made to both of them. He couldn’t leave – he never wanted to leave. 

Less than twelve hours ago, he had been ready to settle down with Peter and Elizabeth; he was looking forward to taking care of them for the rest of their lives. If he took his freedom now, the world would think he died with Keller in the water. There would be nothing to keep him from going home, the place he had longed for, for so many centuries. 

Nothing to keep him from his kin, his family.

But that freedom had too high a price. If he left now, he could never come back. Elizabeth and Peter would be as lost to him as if they were dead. He’d never have the chance to make it right with Moz. All the people he’d come to care about, the life that he reluctantly embraced and now loved without reservation would be out of reach forever.

Neal let the tide carry him onto the island’s rocky shore. He stepped out of the skin, and stroked it gently. It looked up at him, conveying a wealth of regret and understanding. Neal shivered, naked and cold under the dawn sky. He thought about hiding his skin under a pile of rocks far up the shoreline, but there was too much risk. He didn’t want to wait another three hundred years to find it again.

He wrapped it around his waist and sat down. The head rested on his knee like a sleepy child. Neal stroked it, and closed his eyes against the bright reflection of the sun against the waves.

_________________________

When he lost the connection with Neal, Peter did the only thing he could do. He called Hughes and told him where Keller was, there would be choppers in the air in minutes, and they’d coordinate with the Coast Guard. Hughes told him to sit tight, but Peter ignored him. There was no changing the end game now. The next call was to Diana, he gave her the address and told her it was going down now.

Peter sped back to the house where Keller was keeping Elizabeth and Neal, cursing the narrow, one-way streets. The front of the house was quiet, no change from when he had dropped Neal off two hours ago. Keeping to the shadows, Peter made it to the front door without any challenge, and there was still no sign of movement inside. 

Going in without backup was probably the stupidest thing he could do, but backup was ten minutes away. He couldn’t wait. Peter swallowed and drew his gun, hoping like hell that Neal was right and Keller had killed his crew. The front door was reinforced and wouldn’t come down without a battering ram, but there were wide sidelights flanking it. Peter shot the one closest to the doorknob, and the thick glass exploded inward. A solid kick and framework hit the floor. He waited one second, then another and no one challenged him.

Protecting his face, Peter climbed through the opening and discovered why he wasn’t under fire. There was a dead body in the foyer, at the foot of the staircase. He checked the kitchen; there were two more bodies and an open door.

Afraid of what he would find, he crossed through the room and went out the door. The night sky was fading into dawn, the pale perfect light illuminating a single figure on the deck. His heart stopped, even at this distance, in the dim light, he could see it was Elizabeth. There was no sign of Keller or Neal.

He ran down the path to the dock, training and two decades of experience forgotten in the need to get to her. El’s body was taut with exhaustion and pain, her face tear streaked.

“Honey, I’ve got you, you’re safe. You’re safe now.” He held her gently, fighting the need to crush her in his arms. 

Her uninjured hand grabbed him, her nails like claws. “Don’t let go, don’t ever let me go.” She was sobbing.

Peter had to ask, he had to be prepared for the questions that were going to come. “Honey, Elizabeth. Can you tell me what happened?”

She took a shuddering breath, struggling to compose her thoughts. “Neal, he … he killed him. He did something – it was too quick. I think he stabbed Keller through the heart. Keller was going to kill me, kill Neal.” El buried her face in his shoulder, repeating that last sentence over and over.

Peter saw no sign of a body. No sign of Neal. No sign of the skin.

“El, where are they?”

“In the water. They both went into the water.”

There were way too many balls in the air right now, and keeping the stories straight could be impossible. “When they ask, just say you saw them go into the water – nothing else.”

The sun was visible over the horizon, gilding the waves. Peter could make out two Coast Guard cutters fast approaching. He thought he heard helicopters. “Hon, I need to call this in.” Elizabeth relaxed her hold and Peter dialed Hughes.

“Peter, what’s going on?” His boss shouted and he winced. 

“It’s done. Elizabeth’s safe.”

“And Keller?”

“I think he’s dead.”

“You think?”

“El says that he attacked Neal with a knife, and they went into the water.” He didn’t think twice about lying.

“Caffrey? What was Caffrey doing there?”

“Not now, Reese. I’ll explain later.” Peter tucked El against him and closed his eyes. Exhaustion washed over him like a wave. It was hard to believe that this day had started with the raid on Elliot Richardson’s penthouse and the recovery of a Degas. A forged Degas.

There were shouts from the house. Diana and Clinton were giving each other the all clear. He heard footsteps behind him; they were coming down the path and skidded to a stop. 

Diana spoke first, asking them if they were all right. Jones followed quickly with a question about Neal.

“He went into the water with Keller – you need to get in touch with the helicopter crews …” He raised his voice to a shout to be heard over the approaching sirens. “Neal’s out there. You have to find him.” Peter couldn’t allow himself to worry about Neal, Elizabeth had to be his first priority.

SWAT teams poured into the house and down the back yard, Hughes and Rice following closely behind. Peter coaxed Elizabeth to her feet, they’d meet the ambulance on the street.

“Burke …” Hughes must have seen something in his expression, he never finished what he was about to say. “Go, get Elizabeth to the ambulance.” 

They started to walk back up to the street, but Reese laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t know what the fallout is going to be from this, Peter.”

He looked down at his wife; she was leaning against him and barely able to stand. He swept her up into his arms. “Right now, I can’t bring myself to care.”

There were medical personnel waiting for him, and he reluctantly handed Elizabeth over so she could be put onto a gurney for transportation. As the EMTs strapped her in, El started to struggle and cried out.

Peter swallowed the urge to take charge. “Do you have to keep her tied down?” 

The technicians looked at each other and one rather drily asked, “You’re going to want to ride with her, too?”

“I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

They lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance, and Peter followed. As soon as the techs were secured, they unbuckled Elizabeth and let her sit up.

“Who bandaged your wrist?” The tech gave the binding an appreciative look.

“Neal.” The name was a breath, a prayer.

“This Neal, he certainly knows how to MacGuyver a splint. We’ll let the ortho team take it apart.” 

Elizabeth hissed when the tech swabbed at the cut on her cheek. “Mrs. Burke, can you look directly at me?” The tech flashed a bright light into her eyes and Peter held her as she flinched and tried to turn away. 

“Hon, just a few more moments, they just need to do this.”

The early morning traffic was still light enough that they made it to New York-Presbyterian without delay. There was both a medical and a security team waiting in the Emergency Room bay.

Thankfully, the stay in the ER was brief. She was deemed a high profile/high security patient and whisked off to a private room. Peter stayed with Elizabeth through the initial examination, holding her hand – her uninjured hand – while nurses and technician and finally doctors came through. Peter suffered with her through the endless questions, kept his temper in check when a nurse asked, with terrible compassion, if a rape kit was needed.

El shook her head no, and the nurse asked if she wanted Peter to wait outside. El looked up and said in a tired, weary voice. “He didn’t touch me.”

The nurse took him aside. “According to your wife’s statement, there was a period of time when she was unconscious.”

The rape kit process was its own humiliation, and Peter didn’t want El to suffer that unnecessarily. “The men who kidnapped my wife are all dead. There’s no need to preserve evidence. But if something happened to her …”

“Her health could be at risk.” The nurse completed his thought. “We’ll do the blood work. There’s no need for swabs, if what you say is true.”

A doctor came in and introduced herself as an orthopedic surgeon. She, too, expressed admiration for the makeshift splint.

“What’s this?” She pulled out a pair of scissors, snipped off something and held it up. 

“My wedding band.” The doctor dropped it into Peter’s outstretched hand and all of the anxiety, all of the sick terror for Neal that he’d been keeping at bay almost swallowed him whole.

El looked up at him, she understood. Peter held himself still, and focused on what the doctor was doing. 

She made all sorts of hmmming noises, carefully touching the bruised and swollen flesh. “We’ll need x-rays to see how bad the fracture is.” 

Peter let the doctor pull him out of the room when the portable x-ray unit arrived. “The notes say your wife’s hand was crushed – but the bruising shows finger marks.”

“She was kidnapped last night; the man who took her squeezed her wrist hard enough to break bones.”

“Ah.” There was a wealth of skepticism in that syllable.

“Ah?” Peter was losing patience.

“I was wondering if this was a case of domestic violence. She’s got two black eyes and her jaw is swollen. If I checked with the police, they’d support your story?”

“You can call the FBI – ask for Agent Kathleen Rice in the Kidnapping and Missing Persons unit. She handled the case.”

His phone rang, it was Diana. He turned his back on the doctor and answered it. “Tell me you have news. Tell me you found him.”

_________________________

Moz had endured more losses in his life than any one person ever should. The pain and lingering humiliation of his abandonment, the loss of the family he might have had. Friends and lovers who walked away without a backwards glance for reasons he could never understand.

The losses tonight, though, were of his own making. And yet, as devastating as they were, they weren’t as permanent as he first thought. It was going to take some time for him to forgive Neal – not for the terror he put him through – but for choosing to stay, choosing a friendship that didn’t include him within that magic circle. Choosing Peter over him.

But there was that moment at June’s, when Peter – _Peter_ – rested his hand on his shoulder and looked at him, trusted him to help make this right. And the look in Neal’s eyes – no anger, just need. Maybe staying here, without the treasure, maybe it would be all right.

The truck came to a lurching stop and the engine was cut. Moz waited for Diana or Jones to come back and tell him what the next step in the plan was. And he waited and waited.

The truck didn’t move and no one came. Could they have forgotten he was back there?

Moz considered his options. He could hide behind one of the crates and wait for Keller or his goons to come and check it out, or he could go see what was happening. Without a weapon, the first choice was suicidal. The second choice could be suicidal, but not so much.

The truck door was heavy and difficult to lift from the inside, but he managed to crack it open a few inches. The early morning breeze that snuck under the door was cool on his sweating torso. No one was shouting or poking guns through the opening. No one was saying anything.

He opened the door just a little more. Still nothing. Moz waited, then knelt down to look. No sign of another human being. Just the cicadas singing their morning prayers.

Fed up with the cautious approach, Moz opened the door all the way and jumped out. There were lights flashing down the street and helicopters approaching, but nothing within target distance. He went to the front of the truck. The cab was empty and the keys were gone.

Not that missing keys could ever stop him. 

He took a deep breath. He could take the truck and go. He could be gone before anyone realized it, the boat he’d arranged for was not departing until seven a.m. He could be there within the hour. 

This was the choice of a lifetime. Leave and have a life of resplendent loneliness. A life where he’d always be looking over his shoulder. A life lived off of bloodstains and murder.

Or he could stay. And have Neal, plus all of Neal’s baggage. Have the Fed sling an arm around his shoulder and watch his back. Another Fed lend him a sweatshirt. The Lady Fed look at him with confused affection.

Moz blinked and wondered what the hell he was doing, why it was even a question of choice. He sat down on the back bumper and tried to make sense of this sea change.

He had once told Peter it wasn’t about the stuff – of course that was a big lie. The stuff was always important. But having the freedom to live the life he wanted – without rules or boundaries – meant living alone, avoiding any form of attachment. Maybe the old Moz – the child who ran away rather than stand up for himself – would have found that an acceptable tradeoff. 

He turned and looked at the boxes filled with billions of dollars in art and precious items. Could it give it all up? Yes, well sort of.

There was a small crate near the back of the truck; it was heavy – almost too heavy. But Moz was never without his resources. The loading ramp slid out easily and it took just a minute to load the box onto the handcart. He rolled it into the empty field where the truck was parked, covering it with some dirt and pieces of the garbage scattered about. Biting his lip, Moz hoped it was enough to camouflage it. He’d hate for someone to stumble upon a crate of solid gold bars before he could get back and claim it.

The Young Suit came jogging up to the truck just as he finished wiping everything clean of fingerprints (not that his were in the system) and sat down, basking in the dawn light.

“Is everything okay? Is El – Mrs. Burke all right?”

The man gave him a searching look, like he almost didn’t believe that Moz and the truck were still there.

“Mrs. Burke’s fine.”

“Keller? Neal?”

From the expression on his face, that news wasn’t so good.

_________________________

The passage of the morning sun was slow. Neal tried to relax and wait for a rescue. But memories made it impossible.

He closed his eyes and kept seeing Peter’s face, a thousand expressions all in the space of a single day. Aggravation when he found the lock picks – was that really just yesterday morning? Triumph when he opened the holding room door with the rolled up Degas; frustration and bitter disappointment when Kramer pronounced the painting a forgery. The fear and anger and utter desolation when he came home and found Elizabeth gone.

The images scrolled behind his eyes, Peter taking him outside, the anger giving way to desperation; the too-brief hours at his apartment when all of the lies, his lies and Peter's, were revealed, when they became friends again. And that final moment on a dark and quiet suburban street; Peter’s face as close as a thought. Shock, relief, wonder, joy.

Whatever happened to him, he’d take those images with him to his grave.

His skin nudged him, tucked its head under his palm, like a cat seeking a caress, or Satchmo when he was in a needy mood. 

The sound of helicopter rotors interrupted his thoughts and Neal stood up. The chopper, NYPD by its markings, was flying low and in a search pattern. He held the skin over his groin and waved with the other arm. They must have spotted him, because the chopper changed direction and swung over to the island. Neal covered his face to keep the sand and grit out of his eyes as it landed on the grassy rise above the shoreline.

He squinted against the whirlwind and was surprised to see Diana jump out and run down to him.

“Caffrey – you’re alive!” She hugged him and then pulled back. “And you’re naked!”

He grinned. His face hurt but he grinned like an idiot. “Yeah, I am alive.”

“Where the hell are your clothes?”

“I stripped – I didn’t want to drown.” It was a convenient lie, and would have been the truth if he hadn’t turned into a seal.

One of the chopper’s crew members came down to the beach with a thermal blanket and Neal gratefully wrapped it around himself. 

“Can you walk up to the helicopter? Do you want us to bring down a gurney?” The woman shouted at him. 

He looked at the rocky beach, his bare feet and the rocks he’d need to climb. He was exhausted past the point of pride. “That would be nice.”

Diana rubbed her eyes. “I thought you were dead. We’ve been circling for hours.”

“Did you …” Neal hated to ask. “Did you find Keller?”

“We found an arm. It may be his.”

His little game of brinksmanship with the propellers was paying off.

“But how did you get here?” Diana had to ask.

“I’m a strong swimmer.”

The look on her face all but called him a liar.

“Come on, Di. How do you think I got here? There was a rip current last night – it pulled me out into the bay as soon as I fell into the water. Best course of action is not to fight the current, to swim across. How else would I have gotten here?” He put on his most honest, trustworthy face.

“I don’t know, Caffrey –”

He changed the subject. “How’s Elizabeth?”

“She seemed all right, other than what Keller did to her. Peter went with her to the hospital.”

Neal sent up a small prayer.

“But what happened? What did Keller do?”

“Di – should I tell you, or should I wait for an official debrief?”

She didn’t answer him at first. “Wait. You’d better wait.”

“For both our sakes…I don’t want you to have to testify about what I said.”

“You’re way too devious, Caffrey.”

“No, Diana – I’m just always thinking.”

The crew came back with the gurney and Neal let them strap him in. Him and his skin.

It was too noisy to talk on the flight to the hospital – the crew wouldn’t give him a headset. When they landed and transferred him to the hospital’s gurney, someone tried to take the skin.

“No, don’t.” He pulled it back, afraid that it would get vicious, like it did with Keller. That could raise all sorts of interesting problems. He called to Diana.

“What’s the matter, Neal?”

“I need you to take this.” He thrust the unanimated skin at her.

“Ewww – this is gross. Why are you giving me a dead animal?”

“Diana, please.” Neal begged. “Take it, give it to Peter. Whatever you do, don’t lose it.”

She picked up on his urgency and stuck two fingers through the eye sockets, holding it at arm’s length. Neal tried not to wince.

“Find Peter, give it to him. Please, it’s vital.”

“Caffrey, you’ve spent too much time in the sun, or maybe you’ve got salt water poisoning. But I’ll give it to Peter as soon as I can.”

They were wheeling him to the elevator. “Don’t lose it.” He watched as she draped it over her shoulder and pulled out her phone. The skin’s head looked up at him once and then fell back, flat and lifeless.

_________________________

“We have him, Boss.”

Peter was almost dizzy with relief.

“Where?”

“He said a rip current took him out into the bay. We found him on Hart Island. Sitting on the beach in his birthday suit and a sunburn, without a care in the world.”

“Neal’s a strong swimmer. What about Keller?”

He breathed a silent prayer when she told him about the arm they recovered. “What’s your ETA?”

“Zero – we landed and they took Neal down to Emergency.”

Peter looked through the doorway, at Elizabeth and the doctor. He couldn’t leave, not just yet. “Can you go and stay with Neal?”

“I’ve got to give you something first, where can I meet you?”

He had no clue what that could be, but he told her what floor they were on and El’s room number.

“I’ll be there in five.”

He went back into the room; the doctor had the x-ray on the light board. Even to his untrained eyes, the multiple dark spots didn’t look good.

“Your wife has a comminuted fracture, we’ll have to operate.”

“When?” 

“I was just checking with the rest of my surgical team. We can put her wrist into a temporary cast and take her down tomorrow, or we can operate now. I understand that she’s been through a lot of trauma over the past twenty-four hours, but given the severity of the fracture it may not be in her best interest to wait.”

Peter brushed the hair away from Elizabeth brow, she was falling asleep, thankfully.

“If she waits, what are the risks?”

“Clotting, swelling, further shifting on the bones. We can immobilize her and do pain management if you want to wait.”

“El?” Peter hated to wake her, but he had to.

She opened her eyes. “They want to operate on your hand now, is that okay?”

“Yes.” And she promptly dropped back to sleep.

The doctor made a few more notes, told them that the prep team would be in within the half hour and left.

Peter didn’t think he had ever been so tired in his life. He held El’s hand – the uninjured one – and closed his eyes. The past twenty-four hours were going to haunt him forever. 

A soft voice woke him. “Peter?”

He looked up. It was Diana, and she was carrying Neal’s skin – of all things.

It took far too much effort, but Peter stood up and walked into the hallway.

“Neal’s okay?”

“Yeah, surprisingly so. He told me to give you this.” She all but dumped the skin into his arms. “What the hell is it?”

Peter didn’t want to even try and explain. “Trust me, Di – you don’t want to know.”

“Caffrey was adamant that I shouldn’t lose it. Frankly, it should be dropped in the nearest incinerator. It’s disgusting.”

Peter gently stroked the skin, a small, soothing movement that Diana wouldn’t see. He didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that her harsh words hurt it’s … well, feelings.

“Clinton’s retrieved the treasure – it’s in secure storage at the Federal Building.”

Peter blinked. “You know, with everything, I forgot about it. I can’t believe I forgot about it.”

“Frankly, I was stunned when Jones reported in. We left Moz and the truck up the block from Keller’s house.”

“And he didn’t just drive off with it?”

“Nope, the little guy was sitting on the back bumper, just waiting. Funny, a lot like the way we found Neal. I wonder what they’re up to?”

Peter knew that Neal, at least, wasn’t up to anything. He couldn’t say the same for Moz. But that was something to be sorted out later. 

“Go home, Di. Get some sleep. We’re all going to have busy days ahead of us.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.”

“And, Di…” He called after her.

“What, boss?”

“Thanks, for everything.”

“I’d do it again – no questions asked.”

_________________________

_What a cluster fuck._

Hughes ground his teeth in painful frustration. His best agents were going to get strung up by their thumbs for this night’s work. The only saving grace was Elizabeth Burke’s recovery. 

Peter did everything wrong and yet … the outcome was better than anyone could have hoped. He had learned, to his deepest regret, that Matthew Keller was a conscienceless murderer who would have killed Peter’s wife even if he had gotten what he wanted.

And that was the sticking point, no one really knew what his demands were. No one except Peter and probably Caffrey. 

Who was another problem.

He thought for certain that Caffrey was gone for good. When Diana had called in with the news that they found him, he almost didn’t believe her. Back on City Island, when he found Peter and Elizabeth on that dock, no sign of either Keller or Caffrey, for a moment he actually thought the two men had planned the whole thing.

But as quickly as that thought occurred, he dismissed it. Not only was it inconceivable that Neal would be part of anything that would put Elizabeth Burke in harm’s way, Elizabeth herself said that Caffrey saved her life and fell into the water fighting with Keller. And a truck filled with the missing U-boat treasure was found abandoned a few hundred yards from the house.

Neal wasn’t given the same courtesy as Elizabeth Burke. He was kept in a small curtained area off the main section of the ER, heavily guarded by U.S. Marshals. He flashed his badge and asked them to step away for a few minutes. 

Despite the sunburn, the salt-stiffened hair and well-worn hospital gown, the IVs and monitors, the shackle chaining him to the bed, Caffrey was, well, Caffrey. Lying there like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

The little bastard grinned at him. “Agent Hughes, so good of you to come check on me.”

“Can it, Caffrey.”

Neal dropped the smile and his exhaustion was obvious. “What now, sir.”

 _That’s better._ “You should go back to prison for your stunt last night. Or get a commendation. I can’t decide which.”

“I’ll tell you everything.”

“No, Caffrey – you won’t. You’ll get a lawyer and keep your mouth shut until it’s time to testify at the Morrissey hearing that the brass is going to insist on. You’re going to go back to your apartment and you’re going to stay there. You’re not going to discuss anything with Peter or Berrigan or Jones. You’re going to be on your very best behavior.”

He had the grace to look cowed, but Hughes didn’t buy it at all.

“You are going to need to be prepared to answer questions about collusion with Matthew Keller.”

“Collusion? How could anyone think that?” Caffrey’s shock was authentic.

“You knew where to find him, that’s why.” Damn – he shouldn’t be telling him this.

But all Neal did was laugh. “That’s all? I know quite a few of Keller’s aliases. When Peter sent me home, I hacked into the city’s deed title database. The house on City Island was the most likely property. I contacted Peter and told him.”

“Peter should have told us, we would have …”

“You would have gotten Elizabeth killed. The minute Keller got any hint of an attack, he would have killed her. He killed his guards because he thought they betrayed him.”

“Neal – enough.” Peter walked in. “Sir, do you think it appropriate to question Neal like this?” 

Hughes shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here, Peter.”

“They’ve taken Elizabeth into surgery.”

“That’s not what I mean. Your career is on very thin ice – Caffrey’s involvement in your wife’s kidnapping is suspect. He broke out of his tracker.”

“No, he didn’t.” He should have been surprised, shocked even when Peter pulled the anklet out of his pocket. “I took it off Neal.”

“Peter, don’t.” Neal actually tried to shut Peter up.

“Neal.” It was interesting how Peter said Caffrey’s name, and how Caffrey reacted. All the fight went out of the young man.

This was a mess – a tangled mess of lies and misdirection and Reese wasn’t sure if anything was salvageable. He did the only thing he could at the moment. He held out his hand. “The key?” 

Peter took it off his keyring and handed it over. Hughes unlocked the shackle and replaced it with the tracker.

“I’m trusting both of you. Don’t make me regret it.”

* * *

Coming back to his apartment was like stepping back in time, especially when he found Mozzie dozing on his couch, a half empty glass of wine and his last bottle of Barolo on the coffee table. He closed the door as quietly as he could, no need to wake Moz. Especially since all Neal wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the year.

But he wasn’t quiet enough, or Moz really wasn’t asleep. He was halfway to his bedroom when Moz sat up and scrubbed at his face – stopping with an ouch as his rings snagged on the scabs.

“Hey, Neal.”

“Hey, Moz.”

It was as neutral an exchange as they ever had. Neal changed out of the hospital scrubs he’d been given into a pair of sweatpants and a clean tee shirt. He thought longingly of a hot shower, but made himself a cup of coffee instead. It was going to be a while before he’d get any sleep.

“Want one?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Moz drank the rest of the wine in one gulp and Neal winced. 

The silence in the room, broken only by the sound of the coffee machine, became oppressive. Neal couldn’t let this go on any longer.

“Look, Moz – I’m …”

But Moz beat him to it. “Neal, I’m sorry”

“So am I – for everything.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Neal sat across from the man he still considered his closest friend. “Are you okay?” His gaze took in the narrow scabs on Moz’s face. He was sickedn by the memory of what he had done.

“Yeah – they’ll heal by the end of the week.” Moz scratched at the one on his chest.

“If you don’t pick at them.” Neal hoped a little humor would help.

“Don’t be disgusting.” Moz smiled, but then turned serious. “Look – I’m really sorry – for everything.”

“It’s okay, Moz. I understand.”

“I lied about your skin, I needed to be _persuaded_ to give up the treasure.” The last ended on a sob.

He moved over to the couch and wrapped an arm around Moz. “Shh, shh.” Neal pressed a soft kiss on that bald pate. “It’s over, it’s all right. Everyone’s safe.”

“But …” Moz sniffled and dragged a sleeve across his nose.

“But nothing, Moz. We’ve all got what we wanted.” Neal paused. “Well, all except you. I’m sorry that you lost the treasure.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think it was meant to be.” 

There was something in Mozzie’s voice that set off warning bells.

“Moz?”

“Well, you still have _The Masked Dancers_.”

“Yes, that I do. But it’s not going anywhere.” Neal still had to figure out what he was going to do with the painting. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Moz reached down and hefted a box up and onto the table. “Here, this is your share.”

The box was too small, too heavy. Neal immediately knew what it contained. He grinned. “You – you ... ”

A chuckle erupted from Moz. “Consider it an early birthday present, _mon frère_.” He turned serious. “What happened to Keller?”

“The less you know about that, the better.”

“He’s not coming back, I presume.”

“You presume correctly.”

Moz stood up and patted Neal on the shoulder. “Good job – but I don’t owe you the six million, you know.”

“That never occurred to me.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would have. El and Peter?”

“She’s in rough shape, and they needed to operate to repair the bones Keller broke. Peter hasn’t left her side.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to get in to see her? I owe her an apology.” For what, he left that unsaid.

“Wait a few days – I think she’ll be happy to see you.

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” Moz paused, but didn’t look at him. “What about you – your ‘deal’?” 

“There’ll be a hearing – there’s a risk I’ll lose my probation.” He shrugged.

“You seem way too sanguine about that.”

“ _Que sera, sera._ There is no crime they can charge me with, except for breaking FBI procedure. I can do the rest of my time if I have to.”

“You’re staying because of the Suit.”

“And Elizabeth. I love them, Moz. And I’m staying for you, and Sara and everyone else – you all matter too much to me. Do you know what Keller said to me – when he found me at Raquel LaRoque’s? He said, ‘Congratulations, you have friends.’ As if that was a bad thing.”

Moz opened the door. “Friends – yeah. Not a bad thing to have after all.” He pointed his chin at the box. “Best put that away before your other friends come calling.”

The door closed softly behind him and Neal took a sip of his coffee. It was perfectly, deliciously mundane. He opened the box. Nestled in a bed of wood shavings were three gold bars, the assay marks (which probably featured a Third Reich insignia) carefully hammered out. He took them into the closet. The space where he kept his knives and the stolen scarab was a perfect hiding place. 

After a while, he might even forget they were there.

_________________________

Elizabeth was discharged from the hospital two days after her surgery, a full day after Neal was released. The bruises on her face had turned purple and green and yellow and Peter found himself entertaining revenge fantasies. They were vivid.

And pointless. Matthew Keller was dead.

The arm that was found was positively identified from the fingerprints, and the coroner stated that the detachment was postmortem, likely cut from the body by a boat propeller. The Coast Guard was watching for remaining body parts, but the prevailing rip currents meant that it could wash ashore anywhere from Connecticut to the tip of Long Island. 

El was tucked into the car, and Peter had just pulled out of the hospital garage when she said with abrupt finality. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Hon?”

“I can’t go home. Not yet. I just can’t.” She wasn’t hysterical, just adamant. Peter understood.

“Where do you want to go? A hotel?”

“No, I want to go to Neal’s. Only good things happen there.” When he didn’t answer right away, El whispered, “Please.”

Peter didn’t think twice about it. Whatever Elizabeth wanted, he was going to give to her. He didn’t care that the higher-ups would be troubled by this. He hadn’t been expressly prohibited from talking to Neal, but they’d undoubtedly frown on any extended contact between them.

Fuck them all. If El wanted to be at Neal’s, with Neal, that’s where they were going.

There was a convenient parking spot in front of June’s and Peter helped Elizabeth out of the car. “You okay?”

She gave him a wry smile. “I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse too. I’m just tired” 

Peter went to shut the car door, but El stopped him. “I need that – can you get it for me?” She was looking at the skin draped across the back seat. It lifted its head, acknowledging their attention.

He reached into the car and the skin draped itself over his arm, then flowed over to Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s insistence on keeping the skin with her in the hospital had disturbed the nurses. 

June’s housekeeper, Magda, let them in and El asked if Neal was home. Peter hadn’t told her that Neal’s radius had been reduced to the dimensions of the mansion.

“Mr. Neal is in his apartment. Mr. Moz isn’t here, though.”

Peter was relieved. 

They were about to take the stairs, but Magda took one look at El’s face and her cast and led them to the back of the house. “You take the service elevator.”

The ride was creaky, and it would have taken less time to climb the stairs, but Elizabeth was so clearly at the end of her reserves. The door opened into a short hallway – Neal’s vast closet on the right, the bathroom on the left and the apartment directly ahead. He knocked once, listened for any movement, and knocked again.

El leaned against him, the skin wriggling under her chin. Despite the warmth, she rubbed her face against the fur. Peter thought the connection between his wife and this creature, this part of Neal, was so intensely intimate. But it didn’t bother him at all. It felt … right.

Peter was about to knock for a third time when the door opened. Neal was bare-chested, sleep disheveled, his face full of pillow creases. He never looked more perfect.

_________________________

Neal pulled a pillow over his head, blocking out the light. He’d been trying to sleep since Moz left yesterday, but his brain wouldn’t turn off. No matter how much wine he drank, he couldn’t get the image of Keller’s face as he punctured his heart out of his mind. It was quiet, too quiet, and all he could think about was that he’d killed a man. Yes, in self-defense, in defense of someone he loved, but it was still a death. Not his first, but hopefully his last.

He rolled over, trying to find a comfortable spot but the bed was too warm, too cold, too … much. 

Just as he started to sink into an uneasy sleep, a knock on the door brought him back to full wakefulness. Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to answer it. Moz would have been a little more creative in his knocking, if he even bothered. June was away – she had been for this entire debacle. That left the staff, who knew better than to bother him, and Peter. There was a second knock; Neal got up and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms.

He opened the door to find Peter and Elizabeth – and his skin – on his threshold. Neal stepped aside to let them in, a million questions crowding his brain but he could only ask the most obvious.

“El, how are you?” She looked so fragile – if anything, worse than when he first saw her locked in that room.

“Alive, thanks to you.” She went from Peter’s side to his, wrapping her arms around him. Neal held her gently, she felt like she was about to break. He looked over to Peter, but he couldn’t read his expression. 

He took refuge in politeness. “Can I get you anything?”

El nodded against his chest. “Your bed – I need to lie down.” 

“Okay …” Neal didn’t know what to do, but at least Peter mouthed, _please, let her._ He directed Elizabeth to the couch. “Just sit down, let me change the sheets.”

“No, it’s fine the way it is.” She walked past him, a little unsteady as she toed off her shoes before climbing onto the mattress. 

Peter went to the bed and helped her off with her street clothes. Neal looked away, embarrassed by the intimacy, and then grateful for something to do when Peter asked him for a glass of water, Elizabeth needed to take a pain killer. 

Neal rushed to comply and turned his back again as Peter settled his wife. He heard their quiet conversation, which was somehow even more intimate. He was about to go onto the terrace, giving them absolute privacy, when he stopped, shocked. Peter had tucked his nearly naked wife into his bed with his skin. 

He stood there, rattled and more than a little frightened.

Peter looked up, and Neal was reminded of a great cat – a lion protecting his pride. He pressed a gentle kiss against El’s forehead and left her asleep in _his bed_. Peter went out to the terrace and Neal followed, as helpless as a lodestone against magnetic north.

“What’s going on?”

“She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to come here – I’m sorry.”

Neal understood with terrible, painful clarity. “Don’t apologize. What can I do?”

“Just let her sleep. The painkillers are knocking her out, and sleep will help her heal.”

Neal shook his head at the irony. He hadn’t slept since he got home, and from the grey-tinged complexion, it looked like Peter hadn’t either.

“Why here, though?”

“She said that nothing bad ever happened to her here. That this was a place where only good things happened.” Peter sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “It’s true – our anniversary, our second wedding – hell, El came here and asked you to rescue me from Fowler.” Peter scrubbed his face. 

“I’d forgotten about that. Seems like that was part of another life. A different set of people. A different _us_.”

“Really? Are we that different now?”

Neal sighed, this was all still so difficult. “It seems that way. Sometimes if feels like those early days are as distant as centuries. We trusted each other more.”

“That’s my fault.”

“Not all of it. And we’ve already done this round.”

“Yeah.”

They sat there, quiet under the afternoon sun. Peter opened his mouth to say something but closed it again.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“No, you were about to say something.”

Peter fumbled through the words. “I – I wanted to know what it was like – being a selkie again.”

“I can’t describe it. Those first moments in the water. It was like …” Neal felt himself blushing.

“Like what?”

“Orgasm.” Neal was blunt and had no sympathy for Peter’s slightly shocked expression. “Well, you asked. Or like coming home after an endless journey. It was perfection, better than my memories.”

“Then why did you go ashore on Hart. Why didn’t you just keep going?”

“Because I promised Elizabeth I’d come back, because I promised you that, too. Because I love you.” Saying it now, under the bright blue sky, when there were no shadows to hide in was the bravest thing he’d ever done. “Before I got word that Keller had taken Elizabeth, Moz gave me an ultimatum. ‘Stay or go.’ I chose to stay.” Neal couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “I thought how wonderful it would be to stay and watch over you and El as you grew old. How I’d take care of you.”

Peter snorted at that. “Neal, you can barely take care of yourself.”

He wasn’t insulted. “That’s what I’d like you to think. I’ve been on my own for centuries.”

Peter just gave him that look, an eyebrow arched and a smirk on his lips. It warmed him to the bone.

“I had hopes of eventually being invited to your Friday night poker games.” That seemed so silly now.

But Peter didn’t think so. “Maybe, the thought of inviting you had crossed my mind.”

“Really?” Neal felt like he was back at that moment when Peter called them partners.

“Hmmm.”

They fell back into silence. A pigeon landed on the stone merlon, cooing and fluttering before taking off again.

“What happens now?”

“I don’t know. There are going to ramifications, repercussions. Diana, Clinton and I are going to face the Disciplinary Board.” Peter didn’t say anything about what could happen to him. That was off limits.

“That’s not what I meant, you know.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I don’t want to leave, no matter what happens. I’ve let so much slip through my fingers, simply because I never had anything I truly wanted to hold on to. But you and Elizabeth, I can’t let you go. Four years, forty or four hundred, you’re all I will ever need.” Neal blinked, it could have been the bright sun or the tears gathering in his throat. 

“The other night, I said you weren’t alone your feelings. I love you too, I’ve loved you for a very long time. Well, long according to my lifespan.” Peter licked his lips, and Neal wondered why he was nervous – wasn’t everything out in the open? “There’s something you need to know. Something I have to tell you.”

Those words sparked a memory. “Haven’t we had this conversation?”

Peter must have remembered, too. “Not this one.” But it wasn’t something bad, Peter was wearing that beloved half-smile. “Remember the day I arrested you?”

“How could I forget? It may have been the finest moment of your career, but it didn’t rank too high on mine.”

“You held out your hand. I took it.”

Neal understood just what Peter was saying. “What did you see, Agent Burke?”

“Us. The three of us. Happy. Together.”

Neal held out his hand, frightened and elated. “And now, what do you see?”

Peter’s palm, rough with gun calluses, slid across his hand, intimate and familiar. Neal watched as a smile curved Peter’s lips and happiness rose like the sun. There was no need for Peter to answer.

  
  


__

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from the Oysterband song, _Only When You Call_ , from their album **Deep Dark Ocean**. I picked the title from a scrap of lyrics floating around in my head, and it was not until this morning that I paired it up with the album – a serendipitous coincidence.
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> 
> 
> _Love is as rich as the sea  
>  With strange things swimming inside it  
> And people can drown and you're going to go down  
> If your head and your heart are divided_  
> 


End file.
